Words of the Protector
by elspeth20
Summary: This sequel to Trials of Light and Darkness chronicles the continued adventures of Elsa and Hans as they struggle against the ancient God of Darkness, Everdark. Hans must grapple with the darkness of his past and future while Elsa learns the ancient wisdom of a long-forgotten hero of old. The invasion begins now.
1. Prelude

Prelude

 _"In the Elder Days, methods for forging_ mithril, _a metal of magical strength and durability, were known to the consulate. Precious little of this wisdom remains._

 _The Bard Rhennalus,_

 _From 'The Histories'_

* * *

Sadden's Manor,

Arendelle

May 16th, 1843

Elsa Siguror stood upon the highest balcony, staring out to the sea and pondering the inscription on an ancient leather scabbard. She had spent a long night thinking about her conversation with Montaigne, and many more things besides, until her mind felt raw. She focused on the blinding glare of the morning sun against the horizon, staring until her eyes burned and she had to close them. She took a deep breath and ran her fingers over the soft indentations of the inscription, eyes still closed.

The Words were unspeakably old, written in a language that had been dead for millennia. They were known not even to the ascetic monk Wulfric Shaw, the last Keeper of the Stele and Elsa's only window into a past that seemed destined to repeat itself. And yet, somehow, they were supposed to help her. Guide Elsa through the darkness so that she could save mankind, like some forgotten hero ages before.

She took a centering breath and opened her eyes again. The city was just beginning to wake up for the day; down below, the market criers and shopkeepers, seamstresses and street-sweepers, fishmongers and sailors, were trickling into the streets by ones and twos. The sound of clopping horse-hooves, squeaking wagon-wheels, and threshing wash-boards teased at the edge of Elsa's ears. She allowed the tangibility, the overwhelming _real_ -ness of the moment to bring her back to the present and out of her dark thoughts.

The city was slowly overcoming the trials of the last months, but Arendanes were a resilient people. Elsa was proud to be their shepherd. There were plenty of buildings to repair, streets to repave, and graves to dig. That last bit was less pleasant, and certainly less constructive. Her people had pushed off mourning for the wedding celebrations and the rebuilding, but in time they would experience the great losses that Everdark had forced upon them. It would hit the city hard, she knew. Hardly a family had not known the loss of someone close, or loved.

Her ministers still hadn't prepared the official number, and she expected that they would put their fingers on the scale to try and brush over some of the atrocities, but the truth couldn't be silenced. The truth was in the blood that had run in the streets, in the oversold morgues and cemeteries, in the powder burns and bullet-holes that riddled too many buildings. Over five thousand citizens of Arendelle had died in less than two months, and a great many more were wounded. Over three thousand men, from lowly soldiers to the majority of Arendelle's Court, were currently imprisoned and under investigation for collusion with the Lord Insurgent.

It was a slow process, and it was unclear how many would be acquitted of charges. The whole thing was a goddamn mess. But it was workable. Elsa remembered something her father always used to say: _The best time to tackle your problems was yesterday. The second best time is today._ And so, step by step, Arendelle was washing away the pain. Every day, things got a little better.

Elsa shifted her weight to the other elbow. That is, until Everdark gathered its strength enough to strike again. For all Elsa knew, its forces were already at work again here and across the globe, tainting humanity and pulling the weak and corruptible under its sway, building an army of powerful witches and wizards to do its dark bidding.

She took another deep breath. But it could wait. The world wasn't ending today, and Elsa still had time. Time to become what she needed to become. And in the meantime, her people still needed their queen, and that was something she knew how to do.

Elsa stepped back into the chambers that she was using for the moment – construction on the new palace was just getting underway, and although she'd be here for some months or years to come, it was tough to ever really start thinking of this place as home – and set the scabbard atop the burnished old dresser. Elsa sighed as she gazed down at the unassuming old relic.

An ancient hero had once held the blade to pair with it, supposedly a legendary and powerful one, a sword to cast away all shadows and bring light to places darkest. All Elsa was left with was an empty sheath.

"I know how you feel, friend," Elsa said forlornly to the old relic. "You and I are both supposed to be hiding something heroic beneath our skin, something that saves the world from a force we can't possibly understand."

She sat down on the bed and yanked the braid free from her hair, heedless to the painful tug. "But we're both hollow. We've got nothing inside."

* * *

Celestus

in what is now Present-Day Iran

c. 3650 BC

Ashanerat the Protector stood atop the Tower of Watching, gazing down upon the world and contemplating her Words. She was afforded an excellent view of the deadlands that surrounded her once-beautiful city; where once lush, irrigated fields stretched as far as the eagle flew, dotted with the little adobe houses of farmers, now harsh blasts of sand stung the eyes and burned the throat. Great chasms had opened with the ceaseless earthquakes, some of them splitting apart thoroughfares in the great city itself. In some, kindling brimstone lay just beneath the surface, threatening to run over any moment.

And yet, her people survived. Ashanerat turned and began to descend the spiral stairs from the antiquated tower, her hand straying to Lightbringer's hilt as she heard a child's cry below. After a few moments, she saw a band of small children rush into view on a street far below, kicking about a leather ball. What had sounded moments before like a cry for help was revealed to be a shriek of laughter. Ashanerat relaxed, and smiled, weakly. She'd heard precious little laughter of late. The ability of children to find happiness in hours darkest never ceased to impress her.

The Tower of Watching was set at the northeast corner of Celestus's walls, to look upon the wide deserts beyond. Rhennalus the Watcher spent long hours atop it, pondering the world with his ancient, wide-ranging mind. Of all the members of Celestus's consulate, he was the only Founder, the only wizard who seemed able to live forever. Even his survival seemed to be in jeopardy with Everdark's grip tightening by the day.

Ashanerat reached the wall to find that Circu the Learner was waiting for her. The handsome, dark man wore the robes of white favored by the consulate, unadorned save a gold trim around the right cuff. She didn't remember the particular significance of that particular adornment. Ashanerat wore armor in days of battle, went without something as ostentatious as the consulate's robes during days of peace.

"What is it, Circu?" Ashanerat rolled her left shoulder, wincing as the action was met with a sharp twinge. Her duty as the city's Protector certainly wasn't getting easier, and the city's walls were getting weaker. There were flaws, places where the barricades had broken. The next time endless waves of the dead came, she would not be able to stop them.

Circu, a model of politeness in the form of the rest of the consulate, pretended not to notice her display of weakness. "The rest of the consulate has come to agreement that we cannot wait any longer. We must ask you to revise your earlier decision regarding Everdark, and the rituals that would banish it."

Of course she'd known all along why he'd come to her. The consulate did not speak to her about other things, these days. "I should have guessed." She thought for a long moment, and then sighed. "I will entertain a meeting with the rest of the consulate. Speaking with them can do no ill."

Circu inclined his bald head, ever-so-slightly. "Thank you, Ashanerat. That is all we ask."

They began the long walk to the Paliendron, the magnificent, glass-domed temple that housed the Forum of the Consulate. There would have been plenty of time to talk, if Ashanerat had felt like speaking. It seemed that Circu was content with a contemplative silence, as well.

When they passed one of the many wells placed around the city's squares, Ashanerat watched the long lines of citizens, plaintively hoping that there would be water when there hadn't been for some time now. They were wretched. Hungry, and thirsty, and many of them wounded. Too many of the combat-able men had been injured or killed helping her fight back the endless waves of the dead, so in the last attack spears had been given to any who could wield them. Young mothers cradled underfed babies awkwardly, with one remaining arm. Boys barely old enough to grow wisps of a moustache wore ragged, dirty bandages over grisly wounds. The city was dying, and not slowly.

Ashanerat felt her own tears burning at her eyes, saw them fall onto the dirt by her feet. If she was stronger, she could have saved so many lives. If she could fight Everdark, so many would not have died. But she was weak. Unfit to be Celestus's Protector.

They came to the Paliendron. Its once magnificent spires were cracked, and in some places totally demolished; the great glass dome that had once been a wonder of the world had shattered just days ago with the worst earthquake in living memory. Fires had burned the great library within, destroying generations of learning. The Paliendron was a shell of what it had once been. Surprisingly, the three other counsellors were waiting in the eave underneath the double doors, in quiet conversation as the Protector and the Learner approached. They glanced up solemnly and raised their hands in greeting to Ashanerat and Circu.

"It bodes well to see you here, Ashanerat," Rhennalus said solemnly. "We wondered, of course, whether you would come."

"You mistake my hesitancy to enact a poor decision for a hesitancy to act at all, Rhennalus," Ashanerat said wearily. Once upon a time, the Protector had been friendly with the rest of the consulate. Those days had largely passed.

"Perhaps we will be able to convince you of the err of such a statement, Ashanerat," the only other female counsellor, Sakina, said as they turned into the Paliendron. Despite the building's broken stature, it was still sacred, and as such major decisions of the consulate must be carried out inside. It was the way things were, the way they always had been, since time immemorial.

Ashanerat's feet crunched on shattered glass as they made their way to the forum, picking their way around wreckage. Beautiful murals decorated with inlaid gemstones had once circled the wide entrance chamber, but since the last earthquake shattered the dome, the Paliendron had been pillaged by bands of looters. The cracking of the glass had been seen as a sign of the consulate's weakness, a view that was hardly wrong. The murals were now faded and cracked, their luster tarnished.

It was incredible how, even as the world fell apart around them, humans still displayed an overwhelming preclusion for avarice. Many of the looters wouldn't even live long enough to enjoy the gemstones that they had stolen. Ashanerat kicked aside the head of a magnificent statue.

They came into the forum, a room that stood slightly more intact, if only because there wasn't much of value to take. The counsellors quietly took their seats, sweeping the settled debris away from the dark wooden table at which they sat. The table was shaped like a horseshoe, running around the entire edge of the room with a wide opening in the center that looked down to the floor a story below. There was a door that led onto this floor, accessible by another chamber and used when the consulate was entertaining a citizen.

Sidique the Presider spoke first in his quiet, raspy voice. "We have had the great fortune to weather another fortnight since last our council met. During that time, we have weathered three more earthquakes, a continued lack of water, and hordes of our own dead rising to take us with them. The time we have left will be measured in hours and days, not months and years. A fortnight ago, Ashanerat was the only among us who did not favor the rituals which would banish the Darkness. Have your opinions been changed, Protector?"

Ashanerat set her jaw. "You speak as if I seek the destruction of everything we hold dear, Sidique. Have I not made the reasons for my opposition clear enough? Of course I fear for our people and wish to save them. But it is not our right to prescribe doom to another civilization while an alternative may exist."

The consulate spoke of a ritual, but the magics they were proposing were far more complex and powerful than mortal spellwork. They would be invoking the power of the Lost Immortals, the ones that had been dominated into subservience by the Darkness. Even with all that power at their disposal, Circu, the council's expert on ancient magics, informed them that the ritual would only be strong enough to delay the Darkness. To send it away for a time, postponing the issue. Defeating the god seemed impossible.

If successful, the ritual might send the Darkness away for millennia. But it would return, eventually. Perhaps to a world without the same understanding of the powerful magics that Celestus possessed. Ashanerat feared that doing so might be condemning a future people to a horrible demise. So, it was her rational opinion that this route should only be taken if all other options were exhausted.

It seemed that they had come to the day where those options were spent. Ashanerat was here because she knew this. The ground they stood upon was shrinking by the day, and it seemed that they would soon no longer have the liberty of pondering moral quandaries like the one that troubled Ashanerat so. In matters of life and death, one did not think about how one's actions would harm another. Survival was a matter of instinct.

"You speak a profound truth, Ashanerat," said Circu, gravely. "However, the head of a starving household does not begrudge the immorality of stealing a loaf of bread. Philosophers may debate in years to come our decision to value our own lives more than the lives of another civilization yet to come, but we have not the luxury. Celestus is the home we know, and we must do what we can to defend it. Even if that means sacrificing the lives of others."

"If we must come to a discussion of worth," Sidique intoned, "there is little doubt that Celestus is more valuable than another civilization. Outside our walls, men are little better than savages. They develop crude systems of writing and numerals while our bards compose epics and our sages derive geometric wonders. They struggle to forge weak metals, whilst our smiths create swords fit to be swung by gods. Our mastery of magic, of the Lost Immortals' last gift to humanity, has lent us prosperity and wisdom. If Celestus falls, a great light in the darkness will be extinguished. Our enlightenment will be lost forever."

The other members of the consulate, save Ashanerat, nodded their agreement. They had weighed the decision carefully, and came to this understanding. It is not that the Protector did not understand their argument; far from it. It was logical. It was probably true. But Ashanerat was disturbed by the detached way the other members of the consulate traded human lives, condemned an entire people to a grisly doom.

"If you will not agree to this ritual, you will be imparting that same doom to Celestus, Ashanerat." Sakina the Recorder said coldly, with a hint of malice. "It requires unanimity. If we had reason to believe that you might actually succeed in defeating the Darkness, perhaps this would be a discussion. In light of your failure to do so, you stand on unstable ground."

The words hit Ashanerat harder than any blow. They were right, of course. She had failed, and the rest of the consulate knew it. A better Protector would not have waited behind the city walls, letting Celestus get weaker by the day, searching in vain for a way to take the fight to Everdark itself. A better protector would have found the way, and done it.

"Pride has no place in effective leadership, Ashanerat," Rhennalus said, his words a gentle rebuke that embarrassed her further. "You tried your best, for far longer, perhaps, then we should have allowed you. We cannot afford to spend any more lives waiting."

She bowed her head, feeling the sting of bitter tears. Ashanerat brushed them away. _Not only are you too weak to protect your people, you are a fool,_ a voice inside of her said vehemently. _You have squandered dozens of lives with your ignorance. You should have agreed to the rituals long ago._

 _Well, no longer._ She raised her head again and took a deep breath. "Alright. I have been persuaded. The banishment ritual is the only way. We should proceed with it as soon as possible."

The other members of the consulate bowed their heads in acknowledgement, and, it seemed, in relief. Circu the Learner smiled, a rare occurrence for one so solemn. "I am glad that you have seen reason, Ashanerat. May the steps we take now be the ones which bring salvation to our people."


	2. Chapter One

Arc Four

Heart of Darkness

Chapter One

 _"_ The Book of Graes Del _spoke of a fantastical world, one that enraptured Argadon the Soulbinder. He became obsessively convinced that the_ Book _chronicled a true history of a time before even his own in the Elder Days."_

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

Olympia,

The Southern Isles

May 15th, 1843

The horizon smoldered with the blood of a dying sun. It glinted red against Hans's eyes as he stared down at the villa that opened below him. Upon a rooftop and across the street from the horse-shoe-shaped building, Hans pushed down the disgust he felt gazing upon the crowds of elites mingling amongst the white-clothed tables set up in the villa's courtyard. He was not here for them, and it was not his place to bring judgment to them.

His brother was another matter.

Hans drew a grappling hook from his belt and untwined a great length of rope, holding it up and considering the throw that he would need to make to land the hook on the nearest tower. He'd been waiting for some time in the Southern Isles, tracking Maxwell's movements closely. For a long time, he'd been conflicted. Wondered whether he really had it in him to kill the man who'd ruined Hans's life, pushed him to hatred and villainy. After much soul-searching, he'd decided.

Yes. He had no qualms about killing Maxwell Westergaard.

He should have done it years ago, anyway, the same night that his eldest brother had raped Mallory James, the only woman that Hans had ever truly loved. It was just what his brother deserved.

He'd chosen tonight for a very particular reason; Maxwell was hosting a party, ostensibly to celebrate a recent, lucrative trade deal that King Westergaard had negotiated with Spain. It seemed that the black mark Hans's legacy had left on the country's foreign affairs was beginning to fade. In any case, tonight would be Maxwell at his worst. He'd be self-aggrandizing. Cocky. Drunk, most likely, and insufferable. He'd be forcing himself on some woman, threatening her with character assassination unless she slept with him. Nights like tonight were the type Hans wouldn't have any trouble at all finishing the deed.

Hans took a deep breath. Then he ran. He ran down the side of the rooftop, coming to the edge and twisting his arm, launching the grappling hook at the nearest tower. It landed in a windowsill, and Hans jumped into the void. He sailed over the street for several moments, and then he started to fall. His weight tugged against the rope and it held, swinging him in a wide, graceful arc through the air. The wind rushed in his ears as he angled right, sailing around the side of the tower and beginning to twist back towards the building.

The rope grew short and he reached the top of his arc, rising above the villa's walls. He twisted his arm and the hook wrenched free. Hans floated for a moment before coming down lightly on the walls, quickly hauling the hook up behind him. He stashed it where the wall met the tower, beside a door that led inside it, before turning around and taking stock of his surroundings. He was now on the north side of the large building, on the wall that ran around the interior courtyard.

"Hey! Who the hell are you?" A pair of guards had noticed the former prince and were advancing quickly. His hand strayed briefly towards the knife at his side, but he checked himself. Tonight, there would only be one casualty.

He _sped up,_ tapping the magic that had been raging inside of him for a bit over three months now, and ran. In a heartbeat, he'd crossed the distance to the soldiers, and he got to work. Hans ducked to the side and rammed his knee into one's hand just as he was drawing his pistol. The gun flipped out of it and arced through the air, right into Hans's outstretched hand. He bashed the grip into the man's head, sending him to the ground.

Just as that guard's knees hit stone, Hans placed a hand on his shoulder and vaulted over him, landing with his legs astride the next man's shoulders. Hans twisted down to the ground in a roll, flinging the soldier's body into the stone crenellations. He came up in a crouch and glanced over his shoulder at the groaning bodies. They were down for the count.

Hans looked over the wall into the courtyard and scanned the faces, searching for familiarity. To his surprise, he saw some men mingling below that looked distinctly Italian. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Italians in the Southern Isles. He looked away, bringing his attention back to the mission at hand. His brother could be anywhere down there, or hidden amongst the villa's walls. It wouldn't take too long to search the place, but it also wouldn't take too long before he stirred up too much commotion, and Maxwell fled. He figured he had less than five minutes.

Hans trotted along the villa's walls, heading down the eastern side now. There weren't any more guards atop the walls, a fact that made the former prince uneasy. With so many elites in attendance at once, he would have expected a larger security detail. The walls themselves were wide, perhaps four meters or so, and served double as a state building. Inside were offices used by several government departments, though none of them would be in use right now. Unless, of course, one wished to hold a meeting, outside of public scrutiny.

Hans almost stopped, it hit him so fast. There were Italians here, for reasons that couldn't possibly be benign. There was no logical reason to make a two-thousand-kilometer journey for anything but business. And if the state had legitimate business with Italy, Hans would have heard about it by now; the state would have made some announcement. They were here to discuss something behind closed doors, and Maxwell had chosen this villa, even decided to host this party in the first place, all for the purpose of warding away prying eyes and unwanted ears. He'd have his own men planted amongst the crowd, swearing that they just broke away from a conversation with the Southern Isles's crown prince, deflecting the attention of any partygoers looking for him. And his guards were, sans the pair that Hans had already dispatched, inside the building, keeping watch over the affair.

Olympia's finest would leave the party, convinced that they simply missed the prince among a sea of other nobles. And Maxwell would have his illicit deal, whatever it was.

Hans ran to the edge of the wall and clasped the edge, swinging over the side facing the courtyard. He came down and kicked through an expensive glass window, landing amidst a pile of shattered glass on a plush carpet. He whipped his head about and found himself in an empty hallway.

He fell to his search with incredible haste, making his way as discreetly as he could at great speed through the chambers of the building, passing through empty hallways and offices until, at long last, he stepped through a door and heard the sound of a pistol's hammer being drawn.

"Put your hands above your head real slow-like, boy, or else I'll put a slug of lead in the back of your damn head." The gruff voice came from behind Hans. He quickly surveyed the room.

Hans was in a small sitting room, the type where wealthy businessmen would wait before an appointment with the government. In the middle of the room was a small coffee table with a vase in the center; beyond it there was a plush sofa and some paintings on the walls. He slowly placed his hands behind his head and began to turn, bringing a grizzled-looking old soldier standing beside the doorway into the next room into view. He held a rifle leveled at Hans.

"That's right. Keep those hands where I can see 'em." He started to reach for the door behind himself, groping against the wall. Hans figured that this soldier had been stationed outside the door to Maxwell's meeting to ward away unwelcome guests. This soldier was guarding something, at least.

Hans ducked forwards. The man fired his rifle one-handed; Hans didn't even need to use his powers to protect himself. The shot went wild. Having closed the distance, Hans threw his elbow into the soldier's neck, throwing the man up against the wall. He rammed his knee into the soldier's gut and allowed him to fall away from the wall, swinging his leg down and kicking his head into the floor. The former prince picked up the man's rifle and shot the doorknob.

There was a loud bang, and with a slight push, Hans shoved the door inwards. He peered into a large chamber, only as wide as the walls themselves but ten meters deep. There were at least fifteen men in the room, including Maxwell and an Italian viscount wearing a loudly plumed hat. The rest were armed guards, standard fare for an illegal and possibly dangerous meeting. They were all already turned to face the doorway, shock registered on their faces at the gunshots and the intruder.

Hans looked about, smiling crookedly. "You know," he said, straightening his cravat as he stepped over the threshold, "when I was planning for this night, I couldn't help but ask myself whether it was really necessary to wear a suit."

He set the old guard's rifle down, leaning it against a sofa, all the while keeping his eyes trained directly on Maxwell's stunned face. "I told myself that there wouldn't be any point in wearing something nice if I was just planning on getting blood all over it."

Maxwell's face went ashen. He was stuck in his seat, unable to move. Hans was supposed to be dead. Maxwell had heard the coroner's report. He'd committed suicide in prison, the very morning that he was to be executed by the state. Of course, he'd never seen a body.

"But I ended up deciding to wear a suit anyway. Do you know why? Because there's something indescribably _right_ about looking good while I do something that I love." His smile broadened.

"What is going on? Who is this man?" The Italian count spluttered. "Kill him, goddammit!"

The guards opened fire just as Hans accelerated again.

Thirteen muzzle flashes slowly billowed from their firearms, and metal slugs began to trickle through the air towards him. Hans could have used the powers of the shieldheart he'd taken to force the bullets astray, but he had no need. He walked towards the nearest man, weaving his way through streaks of metal death with the casual nonchalance of a man out for an evening stroll.

Hans reached the guard just as time sped up to meet him again, punching him three times in succession and twisting him around in front like a shield, just as the Italian got his own pistol up to bear. The count fired, and the man grunted, his weight collapsing against Hans. The former prince let him drop to the floor.

Hans ran to the nearest chair and stepped onto the seat, leaping off and twisting to kick another soldier in the head. Hans landed in a crouch and rolled, coming up beside another man and punching him in the gut. As the guard doubled over, Hans twisted the gun out of his hand and spun around, shooting a man's knees out right behind him. As he fell forwards, Hans ducked underneath him and rolled the guard across his back, flinging him backwards into man with the punched gut and one more, sending them toppling to the ground. Hans turned and flung the pistol at such an angle that it hit one of them in the head and ricocheted into the other, spinning blood into the air from a broken jaw.

He turned fluidly to face the rest of the room, with nine guards, Maxwell, and the Italian count still coming at him. He caught a fist and ducked away from another, stepping between them both to land a headbutt against a soldier coming right towards him. Hans heard the report of a pistol from behind, but felt nothing. If he had the time, he'd breathe a sigh of relief. It was good to know that, even with little practice, his powers were working.

Suddenly, a series of blows landed on him as he became increasingly surrounded by the remaining men; kicks and punches and ramming shoulders fell like rain. Just as he was making some space he felt the cold steel of a muzzle ram his left temple, and he stumbled a bit just as the gunman pulled the trigger. Acting on pure instinct, Hans sped up again. He was far too close for even a shieldheart's powers to save him; they could push a bullet astray from across a room, but not from mere centimeters.

The former prince moved with blinding speed, even relative to himself as time trickled by. He twisted just enough to feel a painful gouge across the side of his head as the bullet scraped him. His hand rammed the man's revolver and it spiraled into the air, the magazine coming open and spilling its bullets as it flew. He caught the gun and boosted off of a stationary guard's knees, twisting into the air and spinning the pistol's magazine, moving with the precision of a skilled gymnast.

One by one, he caught the bullets in the revolver's chamber. He completed his flip and landed lightly, feeling the heavy press of time catching up to him.

The timewall met him just as he primed the revolver and fell into a crouch. Five bangs in rapid succession split the air, and a cloud of smoke bloomed outwards from Hans's position. He fired with the expertise of a deadeye gunman, shattering knees and shoulders but never hitting a lethal zone. The men fell like dominoes. When he stood again, only he and Maxwell remained. His brother stood against the opposite wall, face ashen and searching wildly for escape. The viscount groaned as he clutched at a wound at his collarbone, spilling red onto the fine carpet.

"Y-you're a goddamn devil," the Italian whimpered softly.

"I am the purifier," Hans responded simply, dropping the spent pistol to the floor. "Be glad that I did not shoot to kill. I come for only one prize."

"You're supposed to be dead," Maxwell said shakily, speaking for the first time. The only exit was behind Hans. He was trapped. He pressed his back to the wall, holding his concealed-carry pistol out towards his brother, unable to understand exactly why his gun was useless against him. "I _saw_ father sign the documents. I heard the reports. You committed suicide to salvage the family name. It was the only honorable thing you'd ever done."

"You're right." Hans's voice became savage. "Taking responsibility for what I'd done in Arendelle was the first noble thing I'd done in my entire goddamn life. Even after you raped the love of my life and beat her to death, I wasn't honorable. I attacked, rather than defended. I let my hatred of you guide my actions when I should have been acting on my love for Mallory. I was a damn fool."

Hans smiled a bit. "But that's the thing about second chances. I'm not screwing this up again."

Hans stood fifteen feet away from his brother, far enough away that he could send a bullet astray if Maxwell decided to shoot. "I've thought a lot about that day, you know that? For years, I told myself that I'd done the right thing. That I'd avenged what you'd done to her. That I'd taught you and your friends a lesson. I didn't kill you because I believed that justice would take its course. That you'd be stripped of your title and lineage, cast away from our family to take a meager existence with other pieces of shit like yourself."

He slowly unlatched a knife from his belt and flipped it around twice in his hand. "But I was wrong. Father quietly covered up your crimes, fired Admiral James on false pretense, and distanced our family from the incident altogether. You never even had to look her father in the eyes and apologize for what you did to her."

"What the hell do you want from me?" Maxwell's hand was shaking. Hans wouldn't even need any magic to dodge a bullet from him. "She's gone!"

"I thought maybe you'd feel some remorse, somewhere underneath all of your blind hedonism. But all indications show that I'm dead wrong. I've been in this city, watching you, for six weeks. I could have killed you a hundred different ways since then, as easily as snuffing out a candle. But I didn't, because I wanted to be _sure._ I wanted to see that you haven't changed. That you're still a monster. Because only when I'm sure of that will I have no remorse."

Maxwell was silent and ashen, so Hans kept going, anger contorting his face and his speech. "During that time I've seen you beat three prostitutes and refuse payment to one. I saw you assault Lady Debenham at father's last state dinner. I know that you threatened character assassination against her if she didn't sleep with you. I've seen you accept bribes in your office as Minister of Justice – a position which, by the way, is a mockery to this country. You've arranged illicit meetings with illegal foreign agents, much like the one I stepped in on just now. You know, Maxwell, I have to say that I'm almost impressed. It must be pretty hard fitting that much _corruption_ into your schedule."

Maxwell screamed something and fired, emptying the pistol's three-round magazine at his brother. Hans simply stood there as the bullets whizzed past him, his cloud of magic working unconsciously. Then he stepped forwards.

Maxwell tried to run, but Hans was on top of him in a heartbeat, slamming his brother up against the wall and bringing his knife to the man's neck. He pressed the point towards his brother's neck, allowing it to graze the skin and draw a bead of blood.

"You have spent all your life taking from others, brother. You took everything from me. So I find it fitting that I will take everything from you."

"B-brother…" Maxwell mumbled weakly, his eyes bulging.

Hans ripped the knife through his brother's neck. Blood exploded out, splattering Hans's face and white shirt as Maxwell collapsed and fell to the floor. He spasmed for a moment or two, grasping at his neck and making strangled noises, but before long he fell still and silent. Maxwell was dead.

Hans slung his knife to the right and it buried up till the hilt into the wall. Then he turned and picked his way back through the room, stepping over the injured men and walking back through the door.

Less than a minute later, partygoers were alerted by a bloodstained, weary-looking man that there were fourteen injured men who desperately needed medical attention in a meeting-chamber on the second floor, with one more just outside the room and two on the villa's walls. He added also that there was one dead. When asked what had happened, the man merely responded, 'there was violence.'

By the time the scene of the murder had been discovered, attendees found that the man in the bloodstained shirt was long gone. As a likely assassin of the crown prince of the Southern Isles, a nationwide manhunt was conducted for the red-bearded killer, but it was costly, had few leads, and after a few weeks, was given up. Olympia's constabulary determined that the killer must have been the Italian viscount all along, and despite the adamant refusal of that fact by the witnesses to the event, he was tried and found guilty for the murder of Maxwell Westergaard three months later.

He was hanged by the neck until dead.

A fact that was sure to be overlooked by many was that a small, unmarked vessel departed from Olympia's northern wharf on the fifteenth of May just before midnight, and it only had one occupant.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

 _The Blade of the Protector,_ Lightbringer, _was the last gift of the Lost Immortals, and the model for Celestian sword-forging._

 _The Bard Rhennalus_

 _from 'The Histories'_

* * *

Grand Royal Station,

Arendelle

June 1st, 1843

Elsa was waiting for a train. She stood at the northeastern side of the wide platform, given a respectful berth by the businessmen and foreigners milling about outside the ring of her security detail. She disliked having the four burly men present, as the message it sent to her people was a distasteful one. Bodyguards seemed the companions of those hated by their subjects. Besides, she was more than capable of defending herself.

Then again, those who wished to do her harm were more powerful, and better-connected, than they used to be. So the black-suited men were here to stay, for the time being at least.

The Grand Royal Station was itself only ten days old, and a nouveau captivation to Arendelle's public. England's passenger trains were now over ten years old, and its web of railways was quickly reaching out to the farthest reaches of the country. The rest of Europe was following suit, and Arendelle had begun laying track for its first railway three years ago. In the culmination of perhaps the largest public work project the city had seen other than perhaps the reconstruction of the royal palace, the steam behemoths' maiden voyages were christened mere days before.

While Elsa had been there to mark the event, she hadn't been a passenger yet, and she was trying not to betray her nervousness as she waited for the hulking machine to arrive in the station. She was headed downtown, and this was by far the fastest way to get there; at Arendelle's Court today she would unveil her finalized plan replacing the traditional court system that the monarchy had, until the revolution, always supported.

She was deeply ingrained in her own thoughts when she heard Odette's voice call her name. "Elsa? Elsa! Will you please tell your, uh, people, here, to let me through?"

Elsa turned with a start to see her dear friend and former magistrate standing just beyond one of her guards, waving around his broad body to her.

"Oh!" She exclaimed with a start. "Yes, of course!" For a moment, she struggled to remember the man's name. "Um, McMasters, you can let her through. Odette's a friend."

Odette smiled flatly at McMasters and stepped pointedly around him, pushing up her glasses as she stepped over to Elsa. She wore a white, buttoning shirt with some embroidery on the flat of her chest, paired with a simple grey skirt, and she had a sheaf of papers tucked underneath her arm. Some of them looked quite old and rather fragile.

"Morning, Elsa." She put a hand to her bun, patting around her head to check if stray hairs had come loose.

"Good morning, Odette. I didn't think you were planning on attending my state address." Elsa tried to keep her voice professionally dispassionate, but in truth she was excited to see her. She'd hoped very much when she disbanded the Magistrate's Council and offered each of the remaining counsellors a different position within her government that her friendship – and some other things, besides – with Odette wouldn't be damaged.

The girl had taken the chair of a newly created 'Intersectional Advisory Committee,' which was a pretty fancy way of saying that Odette's day-to-day duties involved crafting policy that would advance opportunities for Arendelle's less fortunate. It was good work, and she was happy to be doing it, but all the same Odette couldn't help but feel like it was useless, in the grand scheme of things.

What use were programs designed to increase adult female literacy if a god was threatening to end the world? So she still worked at problems like these on her own time, scouring foreign newspapers and intelligence for signs that things were beginning to turn south again, searching Agnarr's old documents to see if he'd recorded anything else at all about Everdark's return that might be useful, and the like. Until today, she'd found precious little.

"Well, to be honest, I hadn't," she acceded. Her schedule was busy, and Elsa had practiced the prepared remarks with Odette a few times already. "But I found something really important, I think."

She shuffled through the papers in a flurry, and Elsa smiled a bit as Odette's glasses slipped down her nose and she had to push them up again. "Something of my father's?" Elsa guessed.

"Actually, someone quite a bit further back than that," Odette said, excitement leaking into her voice. "I've been digging around in the Saint Adelaide library, and, if I'm not mistaken, I've discovered part of a journal kept by Jormic Siguror, the third King of Arendelle."

Elsa had not the time nor the volume to voice her surprise as the earsplitting sound of a train whistle began. For two minutes, the entire platform became abuzz with excitement as people moved about, peering down the line and trying to get a glimpse of the metal monster. The train chugged into the station and came to a stop, billowing steam into the air and smelling heavily of oil and new paint. Conductors leapt off and smiled broadly past their neat uniforms, opening their carriages in lockstep and allowing a swarm of passengers off before calling 'all aboard.'

Elsa's guards led the way to the first-class carriage, and the girls followed. Citizens gave a respectful berth to their queen, and the conductor bowed deeply before waving them inside. They stepped onto a lavish train, with a plush, carpeted hallway and compartments running along the sides. The master of the train, a plump, well-groomed man with a big moustache, was waiting to greet them with hat in hand.

"Your majesty," he said, bowing deeply. "When I heard that you would be traveling with the Grand Royal today, I was overjoyed, and I told myself that any self-respecting master of the train would be here to greet you personally."

Elsa nodded to him. "It is my great pleasure, sir."

He left off his bow and cheerily led them to their compartment, at the back of the car and specially reserved for honorable guests. It was larger, even, than the other first-class compartments, and very lavish. Elsa and Odette took seats on a small sofa and the guards positioned themselves throughout the corridor outside. After a few minutes, the chugging started up again and the train departed from the station.

"Jormic Siguror, you say?" Elsa began again once they were under way. "I don't recognize that name offhand… how long ago was his reign?"

"Quite a while," Odette replied. "Jormic was only the third king of Arendelle. He ruled from 981 AD to 1006. You know, in the comparison to the other monarchies of Europe, your family's monarchy has been remarkably long-lived. Of course, there was the period from 1523 to 1580 where three Vanders held the throne in succession, but your family keeps ending up on top."

Elsa nodded, not entirely comfortable with the unspoken implications behind such a statement. "Alright, let's see it then."

Novare removed some withered yellow pages from the sheaf and placed them gently on the table, spacing them apart so they didn't overlap. The girls leaned over the pages and inspected their faded, slanting writing. It was difficult to pick individual words out, let alone grasp the meaning. In particular, one page was torn vertically in such a way that entire paragraphs were split in half.

"So if Jormic wrote this somewhere around 980 AD, this would be written in… Old English?" Elsa tried to remember her studies. Though once, as a child, she'd had rudimentary skills with many languages, disuse had reclaimed all but English, Swedish and a little Danish.

"Exactly," the Odette answered. "If I'm being pedantic, I would add that Arendanes originally spoke the Northumbrian dialect of Old English, but by the twelfth century, they were mostly using Middle English."

"Alright," Elsa said, grateful that she'd managed to find someone as eager to dive into scholarly pursuits as Odette Marie Novare to fill her cabinet with. "Go on."

That the Arendanes were English-speakers was an oddity among other Northern European states, brought about by the fact that the city-state was originally settled by British expatriates in 936 AD. These Brits were of Celtic heritage, and facing a rapidly shifting landscape of Anglicization at home, they fled north to unsettled territory with the intention of finding a land to preserve their culture. They settled on the Southern tip of what is now modern-day Finland, and the wealthy and respected Ceristo Siguror was established as their first king.

Ceristo was, according to the sparsely recorded histories of the time and the oral tradition that persists to this day in Arendelle, a good king. The Arendanes quickly multiplied and spread out, eventually populating a city-state nearly seventy-five miles across, and with six unique settlements. They had established themselves as a legitimate nation, and this nation was recognized by most of the major powers of Europe during its first 100 years. When Ceristo passed away in 969 AD, his crown was given to his son, and one of the world's longest-lasting royal families was born.

"Luckily for our purposes, I spent a lot of time studying languages during my upbringing. I'm not going to pretend to be great with Old English, but I think that I understand the gist of what Jormic was saying."

"What do you think that was?" Elsa touched one of the sheets, impressed at how well-preserved they were, given their age. These papers were older than most of the buildings in Arendelle.

"I think these pages came from a journal," Odette said, glancing out of the window as they clattered along the tracks that ran alongside the city thoroughfares. "There's some fairly mundane stuff in here, like comments on the year's harvest."

"Oh." Elsa frowned.

"But there's also some stuff that's really incredible," Odette hurriedly added, not wanting to diminish from the historic import. "For one, if I'm not mistaken, he makes some comments about the construction of the Royal Palace, which would have been just beginning at that time. And more pertinent to what we're looking for are the things that he says about his grandfather's funeral."

"Oh?" Elsa said.

"Yes, we've lost the dates on all of these pages, but it seems that Jormic Siguror was writing them just as his grandfather Ceristo, the founder of Arendelle and its first king, passed away."

"The first of the Siguror line," Elsa said with a bit of reverence. Her father had practically worshipped Ceristo, obsessively studying the (probably mostly apocryphal) stories and records of the man. He'd passed some of that on to his heir.

"Precisely. Most of it's very reverent, for example…" she flipped one of the papers to face her and ran her index finger along it, murmuring to herself, "here, he says 'King Ceristo will dine in the hall of our forefathers among equals,' roughly, but there's some stuff that's rather… peculiar."

Elsa felt an odd tingle in her spine. "Peculiar how?"

"Well, he says that his grandfather's funeral garb included what he called 'a sigil of great power,' and also 'the mask of a great bird, one with a hooked beak and molting feathers.'" Odette looked up from the paper at Elsa. "Vultures are not native to any land your forefathers would have visited. It's too early to say something categorical, but we've only seen this sort of iconography once before."

Elsa was silent for several moments, digesting what she'd just heard.

"Of course," Odette continued, "I think that we could learn a lot from exhuming Ceristo and examining the funerary mask and amulet ourselves. If they're still there."

"But we can't," Elsa said. "During the revolution, the servants of Everdark disinterred the entire Siguror tomb. They thought there would be magic in my ancestry. Anything like that will be gone, along with the bones."

"Actually, that won't bother us at all," Odette said, smiling.

Elsa turned back from the window with surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Ceristo's death predated the traditional Siguror tomb," the young academic said. "He was buried in the Old Saint Elias church, Arendelle's first major place of faith. And as far as I can gather from the records on the subject, his corpse was never disinterred and moved to your family's tomb."

"The Old Saint Elias?" Elsa frowned. "I remember learning that it burned down sometime during the middle ages."

"It did," Odette replied. "In thirteen-eighty… well, thirteen-eighty-something. I forget."

Elsa smiled.

"Anyway," Odette continued, "the land has always been used for places of faith. A few other churches have come and gone over the years, but the Old Saint Elias's footprint is currently occupied by the Saint Adelaide."

"So do you think Ceristo is buried somewhere in the catacombs underneath the cathedral?" They were, by now, pulling into the station that marked Elsa's stop. The pair started to ready for departure, picking up Odette's papers and consolidating them into a stack again.

"There's only one way to find out, I guess," Odette said. "After your speech, we can investigate."

There was a knock at the compartment door, and McMasters's voice sounded. "Your highness? It is time to go."

Elsa glanced down and smoothed the pleats in her dress, taking a deep breath. "Well, here we go again."

xxx

The halls of the Court were spectacular, and spectacularly untouched by the events of the last revolution, a fact that served to remind that many of the most rabid dissenters were among the previous bourgeoisie themselves. Elsa heard her own heeled footsteps echo against gilt walls in an acoustic foyer, flanked by her guards and followed a few steps behind by Odette Marie Novare. Elsa kept her chin raised and her head straight, noticing some members of the old court milling about but not making eye contact. Let them watch her.

McMasters and another of her guards, named Seranilla, stepped ahead to push open the grand double-doors that entered the Legislative Hall. Elsa stepped inside, walking under the refracted light of a crystal chandelier down a series of steps that took her past the terraced ceiling where today's attendees would sit. Most were already full, and those that weren't got filled in short order as the few straggling nobles hurried into the room. Elsa reached the front of the hall and took her place behind a grand podium, detailed with golden trim and her family's heraldic crest.

There was a moment of profound silence in the chamber as the noblemen waited for her to speak. It was the anticipation of uncertainty; ever since the revolution, Arendelle's political and academic elites had no shortage of theories for how their queen would address the restructuring of the court that had so recently tried to oust her. In the silence, Odette slipped into the back of the room and leaned against the wall beside one of Elsa's guards. She nodded down at the queen.

"Welcome, gentlemen," Elsa said, sweeping her gaze over the one-hundred-forty-four seats in the chamber. Exactly thirty-one did not contain their previous occupant; four were dead, and the others were being investigated on counts of treason. Almost every single other man in the room had sworn allegiance to Namar Sadden's insurgency. None of them were absolved of blame.

"It has been almost six months since I last stood before the Court assembled. Quite a bit has happened since then."

Silence.

"My late mother had many wise sayings," Elsa continued, her voice sounding strong to her own ears, reverberating through the chamber. "One of them went something like this: 'there is little to be gained from blame, but there is much to be gained from acceptance.' We are living in a time of great uncertainty and flux. We have all made many mistakes, though some of us have made very costly ones. There will be ramifications for all persons linked directly to the insurgency, though most of you in this room have sufficiently proved yourselves bystanders."

She raked her eyes around the room, finding that few had the will to meet her gaze. She forged on.

"Each of you are entitled landowners, and neither your title, nor your land, will be taken from you. However, acting immediately, I am abolishing Arendelle's Court."

Immediately, a clamor erupted. Men were standing and shouting, calling over each other and contributing to a hectic ruckus that made Elsa's guards reach for their weapons. There was no need.

"Enough!" The temperature in the room fell several degrees, and frost spider-webbed across the windows. Silence fell instantly, and at Elsa's gaze the men fell unceremoniously back into their seats, quelled by her anger. "The time of your insolence and insubordination is over. I will not tolerate the empowerment of men who hold no interests dear but their own.

"But do not worry," she said with a sarcastic smile. "For those of you who truly care about service in the public sector, and not the prestige that came with it, I have your answer. In one month's time, Arendelle will hold its first general election, determining thirty-two members of its new Parliament. We will see how many of you return when real work is asked of you."

Her withering voice cut them like a knife. At the back of the auditorium, Odette worked hard to suppress a grin. Elsa was kicking ass! They were terrified of her!

"I specifically determined that the elections would take place sooner, rather than later, because I am well aware that dirty money will buy influence and votes. The longer I allow corruption to fester, the less I should be surprised to find it there. In addition, I will note to you all that the only requirements for suffrage are adulthood and literacy. Any individual who can read the ballot can fill it out on July 1st."

There were audible gasps at that one. Even in the Americas, such an idea was practically heresy, and that was even including the fact that nobody in that chamber realized that Elsa meant _women_ would be allowed to vote, too. It was assumed that 'individual' meant 'male individual,' and it was still shocking for the men to hear that landless men would be allowed the vote. It simply wasn't right, nor proper.

Elsa hadn't come to these sorts of radical conclusions all on her own, of course. Well, she had, but she'd wanted the input of her advisors to make sure they wouldn't do anything irreversibly bad like collapse the economy. After some assurances that trade might go crazy for a few days before settling out, but otherwise things would, indeed, remain fairly stable, she'd decided to give it the go. She was tired of old men telling her what couldn't be done, and she figured that it was about time to prove them wrong.

"Just as they do in the British Isles, a Parliament means a Constitution. I have utilized the great minds of several close advisors to work on a draft, but a document for the people deserves the input of the people. As such, among the new Parliament's chief duties will be iteration on the text. Collaboration will breed equity, I think. We expect the Constitution to be signed by late September. Until then, all law will rest on my final word."

She couldn't help but smile slightly, cocking the corner of her mouth up just a bit as she said the words she'd wanted to for quite some time, to her Court. "Your services, therefore, will no longer be required, gentlemen. Our country graciously thanks you for your terms of service, and invites you to run for public office if you think yourself fit to continue to lead. Until then, you are hereby relieved of your position as courtsmen. Have a nice day."

Elsa didn't look back as she swept from the chamber.


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

 _Argadon learned a great deal about the genesis of magic from the Book. It had been earned as a perilous gift to followers of a dark god in ages long past. Wizardry, it seemed, tied humanity to base forces of evil with unimaginable power._

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

The Court Hall,

Arendelle

June 1st, 1843

Elsa was annoyed. She couldn't place exactly why; Arendelle's nobility had responded just about exactly how she'd expected them to. She'd planned for specifically this eventuality, and all of the proper precautions were already being taken. Maybe it was just her perpetual mood, these days.

Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she strode again towards the entrance, absently scratching at the base of her crown. It felt constricting and tight, but she couldn't take it off, not during what was obviously a public display of power. She heard the footsteps of her guard following her, plus the pair that belonged to Odette. Elsa inadvertently smiled as she realized that she could recognize the girl by her stride. The young former magistrate caught up to Elsa and smiled, if a bit tightly.

"Well, you were right about how they would react, it's a pressure cooker back in that room."

"I don't care anymore. Let them try to stir up trouble when I'm here, and they'll see firsthand how angry I can get."

Odette glanced forwards and didn't respond, seemingly unsure what to say. Elsa didn't know if there was anything she wanted to hear. One of the guards had hurried ahead to open the door for them, and they stepped through into the afternoon sun, lazily making its way towards the horizon. Elsa squinted and raised a hand to cover her eyes, glancing down the steps to the waiting carriage. Montaigne stood waiting for them beside it, and he bowed.

"What are you doing here, Montaigne?" Elsa said as they reached him. "I thought I told you to take the day off."

"You did, miss, and I assure you that I intend to. But before Odette left to meet you this morning, she told me that you might need passage to the Saint Adelaide Cathedral afterwards."

"Quite right, Arno," Odette said, smiling. "He's going to be coming with us."

"Yes, I have my monthly tea with the bishop to attend to. Let's not dally, then." He smiled, and ushered them into the coach. "Oh, and by the way, you've a friend in that carriage."

Elsa stepped into the carriage, looking around and frowning. "A friend? What are you –" She stopped as she saw Hans sitting on the bench facing the back of the carriage. "Hans!"

He started, sitting up. He'd dozed off, waiting, and his eyes looked about wildly for a moment before he remembered where he was. "Oh. Yes. Hello, Elsa. Novare. You startled me."

Novare tucked her skirt underneath her and crossed her legs as she took her seat. "Well this is a rather odd way for you to wander back into our lives," she said.

He laughed. "God dammit, I had a one-liner planned."

Elsa rolled her eyes, but she smiled nonetheless. "I'm embarrassed to say that I rather missed you, Hans. What trouble have you gotten yourself into since February?"

Hans knocked twice on the wall behind him to signal that they were ready, and the carriage slowly began to move. "Ah. Excellent. The news hasn't reached Arendelle yet. It probably will within a day or two, but it's nice to know that I beat the gossip."

Elsa frowned. "And news, exactly, have you beaten?"

Hans took a deep breath. "I killed my oldest brother. Maxwell Westergaard."

Odette gasped, but Elsa merely felt an inward gnawing. She'd known that he was on a personal vengeance quest, but she'd had the naivete to hope that he wouldn't do something quite so extreme. "Hans, he was the crown prince of the Southern Isles. You've severely upset international politics. This flies directly in the face of the Congress of Vienna."

The 1815 summit between European monarchs had determined that a transgression against the power of any European throne would be considered a slight to them all. It was incredibly influential at shaping nineteenth-century politics, helping to explain the reactionary behaviors that European powers took to the popularizing theories of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. The assassination of a nation's crown prince would be enough to create an international scandal, one with potentially catastrophic ramifications.

"You're right," he said. "The monarchies of Europe will be aghast. They'll swear quick and brutal vengeance upon whichever scoundrel would dare do something so base and vile. Of course, they'll quickly realize that they have no idea who did it. Eyewitness reports will swear that they saw a man leaving the scene with blood all over his clothes, but they'll describe someone who looks like me. Of course, smart people will realize that the prime suspect is a man who matches my description, and they'll grow very uncomfortable."

Hans shifted in his seat and smiled villainously. "After all, I'm supposed to be dead. I expect that investigators will take this uncomfortable bit of evidence to my father, who will of course dismiss it out of hand. He knows that I committed suicide in prison. He'll advise the investigators to find someone else to pin the crime on, and eventually they'll come around to the suspicious Italian man who my brother was having an illicit meeting with.

"It adds up nicely, don't you think? My brother and the Italian count were discussing something quite illegal. They each have plenty of guards with them, something goes wrong, and bloodshed starts. It's an unfortunate loss, but dear old Maxwell is a casualty of his own avarice. My father gently sweeps the illegality under the rug and pins the thing on the Italians. Case closed."

"No! Not case closed!" Elsa was exasperated. "This is really bad! The assassination of a crown prince is the sort of thing nations go to war over!"

"Sure, but my father will know that it wasn't really the Italian who did it. He'll realize that there's no damn way that fifteen eyewitness accounts, swearing up and down that they saw a deceased man, are entirely wrong. He'll go exhume my grave and see that the coffin is empty. He'll know."

"It doesn't matter if he knows the truth, if your father blames it on the Italians!" Elsa was getting flushed. "If he blames a state and then doesn't go to war with them, he'll look weak! You've tied his hands!"

Hans frowned. "Well, who the hell cares? I don't owe my country and its corruption anything. If my father wants to screw his country over on this, it isn't my problem."

"Wars are fought with _human_ lives, Hans. If people start dying because of this, that blood will be on your hands."

Hans fell silent, his face blank. Elsa could tell that she'd reached him. Though his eyes remained impassive, she could tell that a dozen emotions were whirling through him right now. For several long seconds, the only sound was the clatter of the carriage's wheels against the cobblestones. Elsa glanced over at Odette. She met Elsa's eyes with a look of deep concern. After some time, Hans spoke in a whisper.

"I've made a horrible mistake."

Elsa didn't know what to say. The former prince didn't even wait for the carriage to stop. He turned and opened the door, stepping down onto the street. And he started walking. Elsa looked out of the carriage after him.

"Hans! Where are you going?"

He dodged around another carriage and glanced over his shoulder. "I need to make things right."

"Don't do anything stupid, goddammit!" She called after him as he broke into a run. Then she shut the door and collapsed back into her seat, rubbing her face.

"Why does everything have to be so difficult, Odette?"

Elsa's friend placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hans is a smart man, and his heart is in the right place. He'll do what he needs to do."

"We have enough problems without him going around making more," she groaned. "Sometimes I wonder how much he's really changed."

Odette chose her words carefully. "Very few men are ever in the position to win the friendship of one they once tried to kill. Remember how far he has come before you judge him by the distance he has left to go."

The carriage began to slow as they approached the cathedral.

"And why are you always so goddamn smart," Elsa said, smiling wryly and laughing lightly. "Don't you ever turn it off? Just for a little while?"

"Never on purpose," Odette replied.

xxx

The Bishop Jean-Baptiste Clement met them before the Chamber of Records, the part of the massive church that housed the stairs which led down into the catacombs. He bowed slightly to them.

"Good afternoon, your majesty. Always an honor to have you as a guest."

"I assure you, the pleasure is mine," Elsa said, falling back on automatic pleasantries. "Your assistance in uncovering my genealogy is most appreciated."

"I have long said that if something cannot be found in the Chamber of Records, it cannot be found anywhere in Arendelle." He smiled kindly. "I wish you the best of luck on finding what you desire."

Elsa thanked him once more, and he and Montaigne left, walking back towards the Bishop's offices and falling into easy conversation. Then she and Odette turned and stepped through the archway that led into the wide room.

The Chamber of Records was perhaps fifty feet wide and twice as long, with three stories and ladders that allowed access to the higher ones. Long bookshelves lined the walls, and tables spanned the center. There were probably ten thousand books in the chamber, most of them rare and old, kept in pristine condition by the work of the church's monks. Old artifacts lay about in certain places, housed in glass and set on pedestals. There was a hush in the air, though several monks were working in various parts of the chamber.

Elsa and Odette began walking through the chamber, silently appreciating its massive splendor. Every now and again, as they passed a bald man transcribing at a table, he would glance up and nod to them before returning to his work.

"This place is amazing," Odette said in an excited whisper. "Just imagine how much wisdom is contained in this one room. Hundreds of years of learning. It's beautiful."

Elsa smiled.

They reached the end of the hall and stepped through another archway, beginning their descent down a series of stone steps that appeared quite old. Torches were lit down the walls, but they were not sufficient to ward away long shadows as they entered the maw of the earth. They went down a story, reached a landing, and then continued down the next set, which flipped back the other way, such that when they reached the bottom they were in a chamber directly below the one they had left above.

The girls looked into a pitch-black chamber. "I suppose we'll need this," Elsa said, taking a torch from its housing on the wall and wishing it were a lantern. She returned to Odette's side and took a deep breath. "Alright, let's get this over with. This place creeps me out."

"From what I remember reading, the tomb will be somewhere off to the right of this chamber." Odette whispered.

It was certainly eerie, Odette agreed silently, as they began to take cautious steps forwards into the building that had once been the Saint Elias church. She saw evidence of the fire that had consumed the old building; every now and again timbers that had been long since molded over with stone poked their way out of the walls, blackened with char. They were moving along one of the walls, because that felt safer, for some reason, and Odette slowly reached out to trace her fingers along the cold, dry stone.

There was a strange, breathy sound from deep in the chamber, and both of the girls froze. Elsa had clamped Odette's arm with a viselike grip, and she slowly let go. It felt like they were intruding on a place that time had long since forgotten.

"I wonder how often the monks come down here," Elsa whispered, trying not to betray her fright. Nothing was alive down here except her and Odette. Nothing to be afraid of.

Odette shook her head. And they kept going. They came to a place where another hallway split off, to the right. They peered into it, Elsa raising the torch a bit to illuminate long slots placed into the walls.

"Perfect," Odette murmured. "Your ancestor should be a few rooms deep into this tomb.

Elsa hadn't immediately recognized the purpose of the long slots, but as they stepped into the chamber, she met the stark realization that there were ancient, cobweb-covered skeletons lying in each. Some still wore moth-bitten clothing, and others crossed their arms over old iron swords. Some had begun to crumble into ash. They walked through the center of the room, breathing lightly for fear they might disturb the dead.

The flickering flame of Elsa's torch danced across the dusty floor and outlined the doorway deeper into the catacombs. They steeled themselves and went on. If Novare were brave enough to speak, she would mention that the catacombs were separated by caste and by generation, and that once the existing rooms were filled, the Arendanes of the time would have just dug deeper underground and kept going. So, this first room contained the bodies of reasonably important civilians – decorated soldiers, wise men, poor nobles, and the like.

They came next into a room which would have held the rich nobles and royal advisors of Ceristo's time. The sense of eeriness had not left, but they both found it hard not to be fascinated, as well. The amount of history in these catacombs was impressive. The last tangible record of dozens of lives, many of them forgotten by time, lay in these chambers. Their names and import may have been lost, but here their bodies still lay.

They came at last to the third chamber and stepped inside. In the center of the room was a large stone coffin, engraved with the likeness of a proud warrior. Lining the walls were the same body-slots as before, these filled with Ceristo's relatives and loved ones. Odette noticed, with some surprise, that it seemed one of the stone slots had been reserved for the skeleton of a dog. They crept forward and looked down at the stone coffin, silently gazing into the past.

Elsa ran her hand along its stone surface, wondering whether she was supposed to feel something. Some sense of kinship, one one-ness, across the span of all these generations and years. But she didn't. She didn't feel any more related to the skeleton inside this coffin than any of the other ones in these catacombs. And yet, she did feel a sense of dread. Was it possible that Everdark was not only a part of Elsa's future, but also her past?

She set the torch in a long-empty bracket on the wall and turned back to the coffin. Odette was eyeing it dubiously.

"You know, I don't know how I didn't think of this first, but I'm not sure that you and I will be able to move that stone lid," she said in a hushed voice.

Elsa wondered whether she could use her powers to open it, somehow. Almost immediately, the thought felt wrong. For some reason, using magic here would feel disrespectful to the dead. She didn't want to disturb their rest.

"We can do it," she said reassuringly as she took her place at one side and placed her hands against the cold stone. "We just need a bit of elbow grease."

They both started pushing as hard as they could. There was a dull stone grating, and the lid slowly began to move. It jerked, moved a centimeter, then stopped, then moved again in erratic jumps as they threw their weight into it, got tired, and then tried again. It took several minutes of knee-weakening exertion, during which both girls quite forgot their sense of eeriness and started panting – and swearing, occasionally – loudly.

Finally, they had pushed the stone lid almost hallway off, and they stopped, having a large enough opening to look and reach inside. They stared down at a skeleton that looked much like the others, if perhaps a bit better-preserved. It seemed unlikely that insects and rats would have been able to get to this one like they did the others. In particular, the body still wore a fur cloak that was remarkably well-preserved. Odette almost reached out to touch it, but she stopped herself short.

The corpse's skull, however, was completely covered by a degraded mask. Molted feathers lay around the sides of the head, but the angular form and hooked beak were un-mistakeable. Elsa had only seen something like this one place before.

"Dear God," she said in a ragged whisper. Ceristo Siguror had been a worshipper of Everdark.

Odette reached into the coffin and carefully unlatched the amulet from around the skeleton's neck, drawing it and its fine golden chain out into the air. It was icy cold to the touch. She let it dangle at the end of her arm, and they both stared at the inky jet set in gold. Gradually, as if Odette wasn't sure when it began, but quite forceful once it arrived, she felt a rending sickness. She abruptly dropped the medallion and collapsed to her knees, vision swimming.

Elsa gasped and knelt beside her, voice urgent. "Odette? What's wrong? Odette?"

Her vision slowly clarified, and she struggled to her feet with Elsa's help, still feeling lightheaded. She placed a hand to her forehead and groaned. "I felt it, Elsa. I felt its power. It was horrible."

Elsa glanced down at the medallion and frowned. Here was an ancient relic dedicated to the worship of a god whose only desire was entropy, and yet she somehow hadn't assumed that it would be dangerous.

 _Stupid,_ she chided herself. Elsa knelt and carefully reached towards it, growing hesitant once she was a centimeter or two away. _Strange,_ she noticed, _to me it almost feels like it's emitting heat._

Without really thinking about it, Elsa reached out and touched it, picking the medallion up by its chain and standing up. It was, indeed, warm. It felt good, almost. She could feel a deep thrum of power emitting from the jet, but it didn't seem threatening to her.

Odette warily eyed it. "Elsa, you might not want to hold it too long-"

Elsa slipped the chain around her neck and found that the jet lay surprisingly comfortably against her chest. "It's weird," she said to Novare. "I don't feel sick at all."

Odette didn't take the time to consider why that might be a bad thing; at the moment, she just wanted to leave. "Alright, then, let's get the hell out of here."


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

 _The Celestian consulate was comprised of five wizards, one for each of the qualities prized by the Lost Immortals. Ashanerat was the youngest wizard to ever be granted the title of Protector – or any of the positions, for that matter._

 _The Bard Rhennalus,_

 _from 'The Histories'_

* * *

Downtown,

Arendelle

June 2nd, 1843

Somewhere in the distance, a bell was tolling the early hour, but Hans didn't notice. He huddled inside an alleyway, head bent into crossed arms, knees pulled to his chest. He was intensely drunk and morose, and he'd been trying to pass into the Underworld for more than an hour. He groaned and shifted his weight a bit, rubbing at his sore head. He was grateful that it was summer, because otherwise it would be cold out at this hour.

Normally being recalled to Hades's temple was not something he had to think about doing; it just, well, happened. Usually, however, he only returned when he had an intuitive sense that Hades had another job for him. On that front, Hans hadn't spoken with his master in months. As a matter of fact, the last time he'd been in the Underworld was just before the night he and Elsa overthrew Namar Sadden's insurgency. Of course, he'd been worried about the continued lack of silence from Hell, but he'd had his mind on other things.

Now, when he wanted to go back and seek advice, all he found was an empty void. What was going on? Had he angered Hades somehow? Perhaps the Lord of the Underworld hadn't approved of Hans's unilateral decision to kill his brother. Or maybe something horrible had happened. Hans wasn't sure just how far Everdark's sway could creep. Could it pose a threat to Hades himself?

Hans forced himself to calm down for a few moments and steady his breathing. In, then out. In, then out. He wasn't thinking clearly, exactly, and though he had drink to blame, he was also being irrational, he thought. He should probably just find somewhere to sleep for the few hours that remained in the night and try again in the morning.

 _What's the harm in trying once more?_ A voice inside him seemed to ask. _Well, alright,_ he thought. _Fair enough._

He closed his eyes and searched inside of himself, breathing steadily in through the nose. He looked for his heart, that part of him in a mason jar somewhere in the Underworld. He tried to feel a sense of connection, to hold its heartbeat. Like trying to flex an unknown muscle, Hans fought to close the distance between himself and his heart, to feel the ties that made him whole.

Like a fickle sprite, it felt within his reach, but it eluded him.

Hans swore and pushed himself to his feet, opening his eyes.

He looked around and saw himself in a wide chamber, lit only with a pair of twin, flaming braziers that flanked a throne. Hans whirled about in surprise. The room about him looked like it was from Hades's temple, but something felt deeply unsettling about the atmosphere. Hans let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and was surprised to see in fog the air in front of him with cold.

"Hello?" Hans slowly stepped towards the throne, becoming aware of the fact that a deep shadow obscured the seat, despite the beacons of light that sat beside it. They were unable, it seemed, to penetrate complete darkness. "Hades?"

Hans felt a subtle rumble that shook the floor, a bass so deep that it vibrated in his ears. He made out a shifting noise above it, sounds of something moving somewhere in this dark room. The former prince twisted about, hand straying towards one of his swords, only to find that they weren't there. Growing panicked, he looked down and threw his cloak aside, revealing that he was completely unarmed. No swords, no guns, not even a knife shoved into his boot.

"Come now," a deep and powerful voice sounded, smoothly filling the empty void of the room with an ethereal weight. "A magician such as yourself should have no need for such primitive devices."

Hans stumbled backwards toward the throne, heart hammering as he stared into the swirling darkness that prowled about the other end of the room. He felt sick with the dark magic pulsating through the chamber; the power pressed against his chest and stomach like a hammer. He was going to die. Everdark was going to snuff him out like a candle, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Hans felt his back touch the throne itself, and he almost stumbled. He turned and called out, falling backwards onto the ground as the shadows upon the throne coalesced into the form of a vulture. The great bird spread its wings and let out a plaintive cry, a shriek to chill bones.

"I am not here to fight you," the voice said, chuckling. Hans turned around again and saw Everdark slowly step into view, arms spread wide without the great scythe it used to cull victims. The creature's eyes gazed keenly at him, flashing bright red in the dark. "Quite the opposite, actually. I believe that I owe you an apology."

Hans wanted to lunge out at the dark god, to go out fighting if nothing else. But he found himself unable to move, completely petrified by the monster's gaze.

"Some months ago, when I first encountered you in Corona, when I was using that husk of a man who used to be king, I believe I underestimated you. I will admit to you that I was cocky."

Everdark's voice was smooth, and charismatic, for such a horrid creature. Despite himself, Hans found that he was no longer so ready to fight and be killed. He was calm.

"I had not yet had the pleasure of meeting humans as naturally skilled as yourself, you see," the dark god said, pacing slowly about Hans in a wide arc. "I assumed that because you did not have any magical abilities, at the time, that you would be a mere annoyance."

Everdark came to a halt quite close to Hans now, and placed a cold hand on his shoulder. Its touch made his skin crawl, and he could suddenly sense the tensing disk implanted within him growing hot.

"I quickly learned that I could not have been more wrong. You resoundingly defeated my forces there, and consequently continued to embarrass me further at Arendelle afterwards. I was made quite aware that I'd bet on the wrong horse." Everdark removed its hand and began to move away, its hooves clicking against the stone floor. It ruffled its great wings slightly.

"But do not think that I am angry at you for this, young man. Quite the opposite. You see, the only thing I really care about is power." It turned its head sideways, beak pointed at the ground as a single eye stared back at him. "And you have power in abundance."

Hans tried to say something, but found his throat wound tightly shut. He could no more speak in that moment than he could fly.

"It bodes well that Hades has seen your potential as well. I did not expect him to entrust you with something as powerful as a tensing disk, but it behooves me all the same. You see, I share a certain… connection, with wizards. Among many other things, I can speak to them, under certain circumstances. Why, that's what I'm doing right now. Paying you a little visit."

"What have you done to Hades?" Hans said, feeling a sickening exertion as he forced the words from his mouth. He took a step towards Everdark and curled his fingers into fists. "Where is he?"

"Do not worry about your friend the usurper," Everdark said with a sneer. "Though I will reclaim my home from him, today is not the day for that. I must gather strength, still. This vision is nothing more than an approximation of where you wish to be, and the choices I have made which override those wishes. I expect that Hades is busy drowning his sorrows with drink and brooding about his miserable existence right now, same as usual."

"Begone, then," Hans said, taking another step towards the darkness. "If this is nothing but a conjuration of my mind, then I command you to leave. You'll find no friend in me, you bastard."

The creature's vulture head whirled about, and its mouth twisted into a mocking smile beyond its beak. "Ah, but I already have, young man. I mentioned 'certain circumstances' that would allow me to pay you a visit in the first place, and I suppose that there's no need to be coy."

Everdark strode towards Hans and pointed a gnarled finger into his chest. "I can only to speak to wizards that let me, young man. Much like the vampire that cannot strike unless his victim lets him into their home, my best intentions can be foiled by the ignorance of a closed mind. You have already opened yourself to my blessings, even if you do not yet realize it."

"Impossible," Hans growled, grasping at Everdark's arm to turn it away. His hand moved right through it, meeting only smoke. Hans swore and stepped back from the conjuration. "You're lying. You're trying to poison my mind, turn me against my friends. I won't give you the pleasure."

Everdark chuckled again, but let the former prince keep his distance. "My young friend, have I spoken deceitfully since our conversation began? I've been quite level, I think. We need only look at your past to tell the truth of my statements. You've attempted murder, and regicide at that. _Ambitious_ murder, we'll call it. Get rid of some of those negative associations. After all, you were only looking after yourself, right? Trying to claw your way out of that miserable childhood of yours."

Hans felt a creeping chill. How did Everdark know this, any of it? Ever since their verbal sparring began, Hans had been carefully steeling his mind against intrusion, the way Lady Blackheart had taught him. Perhaps Everdark was simply too strong for his mortal defenses.

"Unloved by your father, who thought you were weak and effeminate. Despised by your brothers, who did not share your mother. Treated harshly even _by_ your mother, who was desperate to appear as if she didn't hold you as favorite. Tormented and ridiculed by all, but by none more than your brother Maxwell."

"Stay out my head!" Hans lunged forwards again, passing right through the spectral heart of darkness. "Leave me alone!"

"I look not into your head, Hans, but your heart," Everdark said, smiling. "I can see a truth beyond the walls that you have built around yourself. Yes, I can feel the hatred that sustains you. You owe Maxwell everything – he made you who you are. He took everything from you and sent you to a place darker than Hell. And you emerged a lion among canaries."  
"No! I owe him nothing! He brought out the worst in me," Hans said raggedly, looking desperately about the room for an exit. He couldn't even see to the walls. He began to run into the shapeless darkness, arms in front of his face lest he collide with a wall. He ran, and ran, but seemed to get nowhere. He could not escape Everdark's words.

"He filled you with boiling rage, and gave it purpose. He turned you into a man with nothing to lose. And that, my friend, is dangerous."

"No! I am better than the person I once was," Hans shouted hoarsely, falling to his knees. "I know that I am!"

"Are you really?" Suddenly, Everdark was behind him, his voice soft near the former prince's ear. "Would a man with a _noble heart_ have taken his own brother's life? You've taken far more lives than any heroes I've known. You're a killer, Hans. And you relish in it."

Hans felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Mallory's last words suddenly burned in his ears. He felt himself screaming, hands pressed against his ears. Somehow, the god of darkness's words still found their way through.

"You _wanted_ to kill him, Hans. You wanted _revenge._ A hero does not want revenge." Everdark's voice grew insidious. "But I do. You and I are two birds of a feather, Hans."

Hans shut his eyes and continued to scream, his own voice ringing in his ears long after the vision faded away and was replaced with a bleak, unconscious haze. He awoke that morning in the same alleyway as the night before, with a pounding headache and a weight on his soul that he thought he'd left behind long ago.

xxx

Elsa sat cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, her dressing-gown tucked neatly underneath her as she held her ancestral amulet in one hand, and the ancient scabbard Wulfric Shaw had given her in the other. Magic pulsated through the air, a bitter cold that would have been uncomfortable, perhaps even dangerous, to anyone else. Snowflakes and bits of ice swam lazily through the air, hovering about Elsa and dusting her silver hair.

She took a slow breath in through the nose, and opened her eyes to watch it fog the air in front of her. It was quite late, and she was tired; Elsa found that only when her mind was exhausted, would it settle enough to allow for meditation. She closed her eyes again and allowed the sensation, the _feel_ of the ancient artifacts she held to command her senses. She stood at the edge of a momentous chasm of generations and years, many lifetimes that separated her from the past and these items' first owners.

 _Who were you, Ceristo?_ Elsa wondered. _Is it possible that you worshipped the same force of evil that is threatening humanity as we know it? Would that you could speak to me, and share your side of this complex story._

 _And you, ancient protector. Wulfric Shaw told me the story of your people, but you were barely in it. He knew not how you defeated Everdark, nor even your name. How is it that someone who saved all of humanity ended up being forgotten? And how are your words supposed to helm me? How will they bring me wisdom, and guide me to the right path? Will I even know once I am on it?_

Elsa felt a sudden shift in the air. It grew warm, and she felt the kiss of sunshine on her arms. Surprised, she opened an eye. Around her was a beautiful veranda, perhaps twenty feet in diameter and populated with five circular tables. Elsa sat at one, and she was surprised to see that she was not alone at it.

A beautiful, regal-looking woman with complexly braided hair sat with her. She wore plate armor, but it was not like the cumbersome, heavy raiment that knights of the Dark Ages wore. It glimmered almost white in the sunshine, comprised of elegantly molded pieces that fit together seamlessly. It looked light, powerful, and regal, much like the woman who wore it.

Elsa looked about, shocked. Was this some sort of vision?

"Who are you?" Elsa ventured.

The black woman fixed a calm gaze on Elsa, and though her eyes were hardly unkind, Elsa felt as if she was being intruded upon. The woman seemed to be looking directly into her soul. After a few moments, she spoke.

"Do you often think about war, Rhennalus?"

Elsa stopped, mouth half open. Before she could say anything, a man's voice replied from the very same seat Elsa sat in.

"Quite often, Ashanerat. It is my duty to remember all that has been, and ponder what may come. I mourn for the many who have been consumed by the fires of war, and pray for those whose day may yet come. Why do you ask?"

Elsa looked down at herself, and saw robes of white, with golden trim. And the figure of a man. She stood up, surprised, and stepped away from the form of a wizened man, sitting in the same seat. Elsa circled around the table now, realizing that neither of these people could see her. She looked them both up and down, and then audibly gasped. Both of the figures continued their conversation, unnoticing of her presence. Clipped at the woman's belt was a leather scabbard, one with an inscription that matched the same on the sheath Elsa had been given. This Ashanerat was the ancient hero Wulfric Shaw spoke about.

"I ask because I am worried about the premonitions that Circu has given. I have defended our people through devastating ward, but nothing so dangerous as what he has foretold. There are whispers among some of the city's elders that the darkness he speaks of is the same which destroyed the Lost Immortals."

Elsa became aware, though she was not sure how, that they weren't speaking any language that she knew, that her brain was somehow automatically translating this memory, or whatever it was. This conversation must have taken place shortly before Everdark's return, it seemed.

"Even Dominus grows worried. When we have lost the guidance of his wisdom, then I truly fear for our future." Ashanerat's hand absently strayed towards the magnificent sword contained by that scabbard. Elsa found herself wishing that she would draw it out, expose its glimmering power to the world. She shook her head and tried to pay attention.

"Dominus fears the cults of men that say they worship this darkness," Rhennalus said calmly, "but I am not so sure these cults are a threat. So far, they have not proven violent, and surely they are not actually following some kind of doctrine set by the ancient evil; there is not even in my long memory a remnant text which describes the darkness's conquer of the Lost Immortals."

Ashanerat did not seem convinced. They sat in silence for a minute or so, during which Elsa crept towards the scabbard and knelt down, trying to read the inscription. She felt that, if she could understand what these people were saying, perhaps she would be able to read this dead language. She gazed for several moments at the ancient runes unfruitfully, and grew frustrated. Elsa stepped back, thwarted. She would need to find another way.

"Dominus believes that he can fight it," Ashanerat said eventually.

Rhennalus did not respond for such a time that Elsa began to believe that he hadn't heard, when he finally replied, choosing his words carefully. "If indeed the ancient evil has returned, then Dominus would be a fool to try and challenge it. It seems, these days, that the person Dominus has convinced most of his own godhood is himself. But he would be no match for a god."

"What then, if it has?" Ashanerat worried. "Surely my best efforts would be just as fruitless?"

Rhennalus sighed. "Even a great and powerful Protector cannot fight a god, Ashanerat. We may try to emulate the Lost Immortals, and we may even wield the same magics, but we do so in the way that a young boy might swing a man's sword. We are unpracticed, and weak. Against a true master of the blade, we would stand no chance. Let us hope that it does not come to that."

Ashanerat nodded solemnly. They fell to silence again, and as they did Elsa noticed that her vision began to blur. Her breath caught, and a panoply of colors began to swirl around her. For several confusing moments, she felt disoriented and nauseated, and then in an instant she was back, in her quarters, at the temporary palace.

Elsa took a deep breath, and realized that she was out of breath and slick with sweat. She stood up shakily, wondering why the vision had exerted her so. It was like she'd been running. Perhaps delving into the past was tiresome business. She walked towards the room's balcony and opened it, stepping into the fresh night air.

Though she hadn't intended to slip into that memory, and though she wasn't even exactly sure how it had happened, she was glad. If she was expected to relive the past, then she'd better take lessons from it first. This vision had been interesting, but not exactly productive. She'd have to figure out how to make them more useful in the future.

One way or another, Elsa would learn the Words of the Protector.


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

 _The Wizard Damascus was one of the first to question Argadon's motives._

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

Edeline's Bistro,

Arendelle

June 2nd, 1843

Elsa thanked the server, who bowed profusely and stuttered a 'my pleasure' before scurrying away. The Queen of Arendelle turned her gaze back to the three others seated at her table, and smiled in what she hoped was a convincing manner.

"Anyway, Kristoff, you were telling me about a plot of land in the western foothills?" Anna and her newlywed husband were seated across the table from she and Odette. Elsa's closest advisor and friend had insisted to her that she take more personal leave, and this was the direct result. Elsa forced herself to pay attention to Kristoff's response.

"Um, yes, actually, I'm rather proud to say that I got around to purchasing it," he said. His chest swelled a bit as he spoke, high off the masculine rush that only purchasing land could give a man. "From the previous owner, a man named Merke. Told me that he and his daughter are selling their entire ranch of over two hundred acres, and moving to Venice."

"Merke?" Elsa said, surprised. "You bought that land from the husband of my late counsellor. It's good to hear that he's getting away from that old ranch. It was thick with the sorrow of Agatha's passing."

Anna studied Elsa's face for a few moments with a sisterly eye. "Waxing poetic today?"

Elsa frowned. She knew that Anna could tell her mind wasn't in the conversation; Elsa wouldn't normally bring such a dour turn to a chat between friends and in-laws. "Not at all," she replied, turning pointedly back to Kristoff. "What exactly were you planning on doing with it, again?"

Kristoff glanced at Anna, and the redhead nodded. He took her hand, and they broached the topic as one.

"Well, you see," Kristoff began.

"We've been trying to have a child." Anna said, glancing first at her husband and then at Elsa. Something in her face was nervous, like she wasn't sure how her sister would take it. Though Anna would never bring it up with Elsa, she was quite certain that the queen looked down her nose at Kristoff, and thought him beneath Anna's station.

That wasn't exactly true, but it was more true than Elsa would like to admit.

"And, well," Anna continued on, "my monthly cycle didn't come this month. So we think that we might have succeeded."

"That's wonderful!" Odette said enthusiastically before Elsa could respond. "Congratulations to both of you!"

Elsa sat back with surprise, a spoonful of a traditional Arendane soup halfway to her mouth as she digested that. _Anna's going to be a mother._ Elsa didn't really hear the couple demurely accept the congratulations, and missed most of the cooing over each other that ensued. _How could they possibly think that it's a good idea to bring a child into this world? With everything that we know? With everything that we fear could happen?  
_ Suddenly, a hand squeezed Elsa's under the table. With surprise, the queen glanced up at Odette. She subtly motioned with her head back towards Anna and Kristoff, then pushed her glasses back up her nose with her free hand. Elsa turned back just as Kristoff got back to the land that he'd purchased.

"So anyway, with a child possibly coming, we decided that we'd like to start looking into, maybe…" Kristoff started to falter, as he suddenly realized the magnitude of what he was telling Elsa. "… getting a place of our own. I want to build us a house on that land."

Elsa tried to make the deep breath she took after he finished sound as little like a gasp as possible. She'd been worried about this happening ever since Kristoff told her that he'd like to propose to Anna, but somehow, she never thought the day would come. Of course Kristoff wouldn't want to live in a palace – high society was practically antithetical to everything he was. He'd probably been stifling ever since the Great Thaw, looking for any way to get back out into the countryside. And now suddenly, here he was, ready to build his dream cottage and whisk Anna out of her life.

"Now that the rail provides such fast travel through the city, really we'd only be a few hours away," Anna hurriedly said, viscerally aware that Elsa felt like she'd just been punched in the gut. "Really, you could come visit whenever you like!"

"Of course!" Elsa said, forcing cheer into her voice. "Of course, I know that! Wow! Wow, that's incredible! You must both be so happy!"

"We are," Kristoff said, putting his arm around Anna and gazing at her fondly. "We're ready to get away from the hustle and bustle and really start concentrating on raising a family together."

"Are you okay, Elsa?" Anna fixed her turquoise gaze on Elsa, disrobing her cheery façade with ease. "With this?"

 _Well, no, but there's really nothing I can do about it,_ Elsa thought to herself. Instead, she tried to smile a bit more smoothly. "Yes. Anna. I want you to be happy more than anything else in the world, and if this is what you want, I support it."

Anna looked unconvinced, but she decided to let it pass rather than risk ruining the lunch. For the rest of the meal, Odette and Kristoff mostly led the conversation, with the young former magistrate expertly steering the conversation around things that would bother Elsa, and letting Kristoff go on for great lengths about new ice-cutting methods that he was teaching some of his employees, and the specs on some new sleds that were being imported from Sweden before the next winter season.

Eventually, it came time to part ways; Elsa and Odette were headed to a private meeting near the docks later, and Anna and Kristoff were meeting with a few private construction contractors to discuss the building of their dream home. For Elsa's part, the queen was going to be speaking with the members of a well-organized sailors' club about the upcoming Arendane elections. She was through playing the role of a politically aloof and divinely ordained monarch like her father and his father before her; Elsa was planning on putting her toe on the scale a bit more.

She wasn't endorsing a particular candidate; not yet, at least. In less than twenty-four hours since her administration had publicized the details of the upcoming general election, no less than four hundred men had announced their candidacy, including over ninety who had previously sat on Arendelle's court. The field was too large, and way too new, for Elsa to know who among them would enact her agenda best, so rather than speak about people, she would be discussing policy with these sailors.

Though workers' unions would not organize throughout Europe until Marx's Communist Manifesto spread like wildfire later in the decade, politically motivated and well-organized clubs had sprung up in Arendelle here and there, usually organized within certain industries. They were populated by wealthy and aristocratic folks, generally landowners and sometimes entitled; not exactly the type that Elsa expected to sway to a progressive agenda easily, but it was a fight she was ideologically determined to win.

xxx

"Elsa?"

Elsa blinked, and glanced back into the carriage at Odette's concerned face. "Yes?"

Odette frowned. "Anna was right; you really are distracted today."

Elsa scowled good-naturedly. "I swear to god, Odette, this time I was thinking about work."

Her young friend smiled. "Well, then I suppose I can't complain; I wasn't even asking you about your speech."

"Oh?" Elsa shifted her weight and smoothed out the creases that had formed in her dress. "Run it by me one more time."

"Well, it's rather personal, so decline to answer if you want, but…" she frowned, trying to find the right way to word it. "Why does Kristoff make you so unhappy?"

"What?" Elsa was shocked. "What on earth do you mean? I have nothing against that man."

"That's the point," Novare pressed. "You don't. Neither of you has reason to dislike the other, but he's terrified of you, and you don't like him."

"I'm calling bullshit on that," Elsa said, crossing her arms. "You're extemporizing."

"I am making very perceptive guesses," Odette said, leaning in. "Is it because you think he's taking your sister away from you?"

Elsa gulped. "Why are you asking me these questions?"

"Because I know that you are haunted by many demons, Elsa, and we're going to have to start killing them if you're ever going to be whole enough to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders." The intensity with which Odette stared into Elsa's eyes made the queen wilt and glance away.

 _She's right. By God, that girl is always right, about everything, it seems. She's too damn smart for her own good._

Elsa stared out of the window for a few long moments, long enough that eventually Odette sat back in her seat again, apparently content to let Elsa mull over her words without pressing them.

"Why can't we ever talk about normal things?" Elsa said ruefully. "It's always either business, or 'saving the world' stuff."

"I told you to take more leisure time, Elsa," Odette replied with a soft smile.

"But even during leisure that you're making me take, you still want to talk about important things," Elsa said, trying not to make her voice sound as accusatory as he felt.

"Okay," Odette said, crossing her arms, "I'm not going to try and pretend things are normal when you stare broodingly off into the distance all of the time. Even if I had been trying to have a normal conversation with you a second ago, _or_ during lunch, you just would have shot back one-word answers while your brain was a thousand miles away."

Chagrined, Elsa winced. "I'm sorry, Odette. You're right. I have trouble living in the present. Being raised in a cell kind of teaches you to always be looking ahead."

"I know, Elsa. I'm sorry too. But look, we're still ten minutes from the docks. Let's have a normal conversation, right now, you and me." Odette smiled. "What do you want to talk about?"

Elsa looked inwards. _Us,_ was the obvious answer. _What are we? What do I want us to be? What do you want us to be?_ But she couldn't ask that. She could barely bring herself to wonder that inside.

"Well, I don't know, um, normal stuff," she answered lamely. "Hobbies. Well, no, not hobbies, because I know all of your hobbies, but, I don't know, banter, or something that normal people talk about."

"Flirting?" Odette said, smiling. "Normal people flirt with each other, when they're attracted. You and I _are_ attracted, right?"

Elsa blushed. _Dammit. Five and a half months ago, the night we first kissed,_ I _was the forward one. Why am I so bad at this now?_

"Um, yes, well, I suppose that we are." She found herself rubbing the back of her neck.

"Would you like me to flirt with you, more often, then?" Odette smiled villainously and leaned in. "Would you like me to fawn all over you and give you little kisses while I whisper sweet nothings in your ears, like this?"

Odette sat herself in Elsa's lap and put her arms around her neck, leaning in and placing little pecks on her neck and ears, murmuring nonsensical coos as she did.

Elsa giggled, partly because of embarrassment and partly because the kisses tickled.

"No, stop, Odette," she tried to get her arms around the girl, but she was really quite persistent at ducking around them, and then pecking Elsa again. Finally, she got her arms around Odette's waist and kissed her longer and more passionately, for several moments. "Oh, my hell," she said, laughing more as they pulled away. "What was that?"

Odette pulled her into another long kiss, before resting her head against the queen's shoulder. "Oh, I don't know, sometimes I just feel like doing something silly and spontaneous. Keeps me from feeling like I play things by the book too much."

Elsa smiled and stroked Novare's hair. "Well, I appreciate the affection." Suddenly, the ice seemed broken well-enough that she asked. "What are we doing, Odette?"

Odette pushed up her glasses and looked into Elsa's eyes. Elsa felt her heart skip a beat when she saw that Odette's glasses had gotten foggy during the kissing. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Elsa said. "This. Us. Are we… are we seeing each other?"

Odette rolled her shoulders. "I mean, _I_ assumed that we were. At least, I'd like to be."

Elsa felt a surge of affection. "I'd like to be, too."

Novare sat up and looked into Elsa's eyes, smiling. "Well, then, it's official. We are _officially_ seeing each other."

Elsa smiled, glancing over out the window. Gazing out into the bustling street, her smile faded. "I'm not so sure that the word 'officially' is the right one to use," she said ruefully. "I don't know how Arendelle would respond to the knowledge that their queen doesn't want a king."

Odette followed Elsa's gaze and frowned. "You're probably right. You've had to fight the same people tooth and claw for every inch of progress that you've made with this country."

The carriage began to slow as they approached the wharf. "But it's worth it," Elsa said. "I love this land, and I love these people. Even if sometimes I need to prod them in the right direction."

xxx

"Gentlemen," Elsa said, wryly wishing she had cause to be saying 'ladies and gentlemen' instead. "It is with great pleasure that I accept your hospitality and speak to you today."

She sat at the head of a massive table inside posh mercantile headquarters, before a group of fifty or so men who represented the Grand Fraternity of Arendane Sailors. Seated around the table and spilling onto seats lining the walls, these men certainly hadn't been sailors for a good long time; their leathery skin bespoke constant tans in their youth, but their bellies had grown fat from decades of opulence brought on by lucrative positions as shipmasters, or merchants. It was, in some sense, ludicrous that these men supposedly represented the interest of Arendelle's giant population of sailors, but then again, politics begat stranger things than this.

"It seems like so many years ago, now, that a far younger and greener version of myself ordained your organization, but in fact it was only three." Consequentially, it had been one of her first public functions after the Great Thaw. Attendance had been through the roof, not because people were interested in a small club of wealthy merchants, but because at that time the 'witch queen' of Arendelle had garnered a certain cult fascination. Elsa was glad those days were over.

A few chuckles and blurbs of agreement politely followed her comment, and she smiled gratefully. "On that day, I was expressly performing my ceremonial role, as your queen. An apolitical being, removed from and certainly above the petty squabbles of land and money. It is after no small amount of thought that I have determined to abandon that guise, once and for all."

There were some surprised faces among the men. They'd known, of course, what her designs were in being here, but they hadn't expected she'd come out so forwardly with them. Elsa swept her gaze around the wharf, meeting eyes with several of her personal guards standing around the perimeter and near the doors, before continuing.

"For the first time in Arendelle's history, we approach a general election of _all_ representatives. Previously, certain seats in the House of Commons were elected, but they were bought positions, with suffrage limited to landowners and paid for by wealthy men. This will be no more. For the first time, all literate men and women who have attained the age of majority will be given the vote.

"Naturally, this means that candidates who plan on winning these elections are going to need to broaden their base a bit. Many of them will seek your endorsement, gentlemen; you hold great sway with the twenty thousand Arendane men who are sailors. Shipping and trade is our single most important industry –"

There were some cheers and applause at this, and Elsa inadvertently smiled. She hadn't intended that to receive applause, but the rich were vain.

"- and the candidate who wins them, will stand an excellent chance of winning their precinct. So it is without apology that I come to make a deal."

The president of the club, a fat and white-haired man named Cristien Angali, smiled and wove his fingers together. "We had a feeling that something like this would come, your majesty, but we hadn't expected that it would so soon after your announcement yesterday."

Elsa flicked her wrist dismissively. So be it if her motives had grown transparent. Effective leadership need not be subtle.

"And we have taken it upon ourselves to craft a list of concessions."

That took Elsa by surprise. "What do you mean?" She said with the imperiously half-lidded eyebrows that had been her staple for quite some time.

"In exchange for the endorsement of the candidate or candidates of your choice, we have come up with a small and reasonable list of demands." Angali's smile broadened more deeply.

Elsa felt the corner of her mouth twitch upwards. "Very well. Let me hear your opening bid."

"As you are no doubt aware, your highness, there has been rather alarming news out of the Southern Isles, as of late," Angali said. "The loss of their crown prince is unspeakably tragic, and we feel that it is our duty under the stipulation of the Congress of Vienna, and the fraternity of the states of Europe, to put aside our differences with the state and lend what aid we can."

"You want to reopen trade with the Southern Isles on an exclusive basis?" Elsa guessed. "A special writ allowing your companies to trade there, and no one else?"

"You make it seem so callous, your majesty."

"Gold does not travel through honest hands, President Angali. Surely you know that as well as I."

Angali's face was impenetrable for a few tense moments, and then he laughed, widening his stance in a friendly way. "I'll be damned, your majesty! Your father, bless his soul, was not half the negotiator that you are. You're right, of course."

Elsa smiled. "What else do you believe you are entitled to?"

"Just one more, little thing, your majesty. As a matter of fact, we're not even asking you to _do_ anything. Quite the opposite."

"Time waits for no one, Angali." Elsa had always hated this sort of political maneuvering.

"When war comes between the Southern Isles and the Tuscan pigs who brought this tragedy upon them, and it _will_ come, we ask that you turn a blind eye to the conflict. Let them fight their little war for honor."

Elsa frowned. She'd already made it quite clear to her advisors that she planned to mediate for peace between the nations; it seemed easy enough to argue that the Italian count caught up in that whole affair had been a rogue, acting outside the interests of his nation. As a matter of fact, she wasn't even sure how the attack had already been (incorrectly, of course) been attributed to the Tuscans. Elsa knew that it was bigoted, but she couldn't ever tell Italians apart. They all looked Mediterranean to her.

"There is quite a lucrative business to be made during war," Angali said by way of explanation. Trade in arms and bread lines our pockets quite well. And if you've just given us the exclusive right of trade to the Southern Isles, well… you can see how we would be quite eager to service their wartime needs."

Elsa made a few quick calculations. "I will give you the trade rights you want, but I will not take an impassive stance on the conflict, should it come. It is against everything our country holds moral."

Angali and a few of the men sitting beside him conferred in whispers for several excruciating moments. They looked back at her, then spoke a bit more. Finally, their president cleared his throat.

"You will morally object to the conflict, but you will do nothing to impede the doing of business with either of the participants."

Elsa gritted her teeth. They were asking her to tacitly support the squandering of lives, just so they could sell marked-up arms to both sides of what would be a pointless war. _Why the hell did you have to do what you did, Hans? S_ till, being a hereditary monarch who simultaneously championed the downtrodden involved many hypocrisies larger than this one.

Elsa found Odette, standing beside the door with McMasters. She nodded, ever so slightly. Elsa summoned her most imperious tone. "Fine."

Angali and his men smiled broadly, some of them even whooping with delight. "You have a deal, your majesty. Pick your man, and we will see to it that he gets the votes that he so sorely deserves."

They met around the side of the table, and clasped hands.


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

 _It is natural to wonder whether this nightmare could have been averted if Dominus had not been so vain._

 _The Bard Rhennalus,_

 _from 'The Histories'_

* * *

Hades's Temple,

the Edge of Hell

June 6th, 1843

The blind exertion felt good. The centering nature of physical activity removed his mind from the specters of the present and let him simply be, for a moment. Hans moved at a speed far beyond the capabilities of a normal human, wielding his blade with precision that had taken him his entire lifetime to master. Blow after blow was parried by Contrane, the skeleton servant to Lady Blackheart, his mentor in magic. Contrane was not limited by the same inefficiencies of the body possessed by a living man, and he was able to match the former prince swing and slash.

His body screamed with the fiery exultation of being pushed to its limit, a state of being that was as familiar to Hans at this point as a well-fitting glove. He still remembered the morning of his eleventh birthday, when he'd been told by his tutor that they'd be taking their studies outside for the day. They'd wandered all the way to the dueling grounds, the tutor all the while deflecting questions from the young prince about what they were doing. When they'd arrived, Hans was surprised to see his own father standing there with the captain of the guard, a man named Rainier.

Hans remembered vividly the way his father had told Hans that he was well on his way to becoming a man, and that he'd be taking one step of that journey to manhood today. The king had bowed to his son, and presented him with a finely crafted wooden blade. Hans had been almost too beside himself with excitement to hear his father's promise that once Rainier had trained him in the art of swordplay, he'd exchange the wooden sword for one of steel. Hans was ready; he was sure of it. If nothing else, he would become a master to impress his father, who had never before or since shown such pride in his son.

So he'd taken the wooden sword and eagerly followed Rainier's orders. He ran several miles, at the man's behest, and though he was exhausted by the end, he still did the pushups and sit-ups that the guard ordered. He ended up vomiting at some point, and he'd been embarrassed, until Rainier seemed to be proud. The older man said something about Hans's enthusiasm, which only redoubled it. So exhausted he was weak in the knees, finally Hans was told to take up his wooden sword and fight Rainier. And he'd done it, with almost foolhardy optimism.

He'd been beaten summarily, bruised all over, and left in a pile of dust on the ground. Rainier left Hans fighting back tears and lying on the ground, telling the young boy that he'd be waiting for him tomorrow on these grounds at six in the morning. It took Hans several minutes to pick himself up off of the ground and wander back to the castle, wondering whether he was really interested in swordplay anyway. That night, his mother had nursed his wounds with the quiet, distressed attitude that had always scared him.

That night, Hans could hear his mother and father screaming at each other through the walls. He couldn't make out their words, but he knew that it was about him. His mother was trying to get his father to let him out of sword fighting, because he was weak. Hans wasn't fit to hold a weapon – he was too soft, too quick to cry when he got hurt. And his mother was going to pay for it, with a black eye and days of flinching whenever someone raised their voice at her. No more. Hans decided that night he wasn't going to be weak any longer. Never again.

The next morning, Hans woke at the crack of dawn and ate breakfast alone in the kitchens, forcing down the same kind of gruel that the soldiers ate, because he figured that it must help to toughen them up. He found himself some training garments used by the army, and though they were a bit too large, Hans figured that he'd grow into them, eventually. A young man, no longer a boy, was waiting for Rainier at the training grounds when the old guard arrived at 5:45.

Hans's mind slipped back into the present, and he tapped his magic, _speeding up._ Once again, he was a changed man, far different from the one who had been sentenced to death in Olympia three years ago.

Hans was deliberately taking himself to the brink, pouring all his energy into his magic and keeping up the speed as long as he could. So far, he'd been able to push himself to six seconds of blinding speed in controlled situations, but he wasn't satisfied yet. The familiar warping in his ears and fire in his muscles signaled the end of this burst, and he tried to push it for just a bit longer before hitting the wall and stumbling unceremoniously back into real time. Feeling depleted, he dropped his sword to the floor in a clatter and stepped off the dueling pitch, breathing heavily and placing his hands on his hips. He wore no shirt, and his entire upper body glistened with sweat.

"That was better. My stopwatch says seven seconds." Lady Blackheart noted as much in a small ledger from the other side of the room. "For what it's worth, that's another point in the favor of your abilities being consumptive."

Beyond the academic jargon, Lady Blackheart was referring to the fact that in each of the trials Hans had been able to push himself past five seconds, he'd eaten recently before. Though magical abilities among wizards were as varied as animals under the sun, there were broad, important characteristics that united them. Certain traits were retentive, meaning they didn't burn the energy of their user, like telepathy and peering into the future. Other traits were consumptive, meaning they did use their wizard's energy. Elsa's cryomancy and Novare's healing were consumptive, and so too, it seemed, were Hans's powers.

Hans picked up a waterskin and took a long drink, tossing it back to the ground afterwards. "Well, that's nothing surprising. It's good to hear that I'm making progress. Certainly doesn't feel like it."

"Well of course it doesn't," Contrane said laconically. "You're not spending your time in the heat of battle counting. But one second on the margin can be the difference between life and death."

Hans glanced back at the temple. They had set up a dueling ground just outside, on the endless expanse of red rock that stretched to the horizon in this strange space at the edge of Hell. The building's obsidian outline loomed tall over them, its stark and alien architecture a reminder that this place did not belong to them.

"Well," he said, turning back to Lady Blackheart, "I'm not going to be able to beat that time for a couple of hours, at least. I think we're done for the day."

Lady Blackheart didn't even try to conceal her gaze as it smoothly passed over the former prince's herculean body. She met his eyes and nodded. "You're right. I think Hades wanted to speak to you, anyway."

Hans gathered up his sword and the waterskin and bade them both good day, heading back towards the temple. As Lady Blackheart packed away her quill, ink, and ledger, Contrane wandered over and pressed the tip of his sword into the ground, leaning his forearm against the black pommel.

"Boy, I thought I was sworn to the immortal service of an ancient and powerful witch, but it turns out you're just a horny schoolgirl."

Lady Blackheart turned to look at her skeleton servant, affronted. "I am most certainly not a _horny schoolgirl,_ you useless bag of bones." She stood up and sniffed, tossing a cascade of raven locks over her shoulder. "I merely possess the ability to appreciate a handsome man, when I see one. Once every few hundred years."

Contrane laughed in his strange, rattling way, and lifted his sword out of the ground, ramming it into the weathered old scabbard he wore by his side. "Say what you like, mistress. Perhaps you should bat your eyelashes at him the next time you see him. I've heard that's very effective."

Lady Blackheart rolled her eyes.

xxx

"Oh good, wonderboy, come in," Hades said as he glanced over to see Hans standing in the doorway. The Prince of the Underworld turned back to the map laid out before him and frowned. "It's good to see you well. I'd heard from Marina that you were back."

"Actually, I have been for a few days," Hans said, walking across the war room towards the flaming deity. "But you've been quite busy, from what I'd heard. I figured that you'd send for me when you were ready. Wait. Who's Marina?"

Hades was lost in thought for a few seconds. "What? Oh. Marina Blackheart." He gesticulated. "You've never heard her first name?"

"Not that I can remember."

"Well, I'm not surprised. She doesn't go around saying it. She thinks it sounds dowdy. But I digress. You're very right that I've been busy here, wonderboy, very right indeed. You see, one of our friends on the other side, Mr. Gold, has been in New York City."

"New York? What has he been doing in America?" Hans looked down at the world map spread out in front of Hades. He saw his answer in a collection of small black figurines clustered throughout the rugged young country. His forehead creased into a deep frown "When did the Cult of Entropy cross the Atlantic?"

Hades rubbed his jaw with long, bony fingers. "See, that's the thing, Hans. We're always one step behind them. The minute we think that we've got a situation under control, they're halfway across the world with more power than ever before. Mr. Gold's reconnaissance estimates that they have forces in excess of ten thousand. Turns out, alternative religion is very _vogue_ in the United States right now, and the cultists are largely masquerading as a bizarre form of Revivalists."

Hans rubbed his jaw. "Do they have anyone in government yet? America's basically a parliament, right?"

"Something like that," Hades said. "They have a pretty similar executive and judicial branch to Great Britain, but their legislative Congress is separated into two chambers. I'll spare you the unnecessary details. In any case, there won't be any elections in the country for over a year, so we need only worry that the cult's influence reach existing politicians. As for how much that's currently an issue, we're unsure."

Hans almost said that he was ready to go to America, right away if need be, and start doing what he always did. But the words fell short on his lips. Could he abandon the mess he'd created in the Southern Isles? Didn't he have a responsibility to ensure that war wasn't his father's response to Maxwell's death? Or was his calling to defend the world a greater one?

"You seem conflicted, wonderboy." Hades turned and fixed his yellow eyes on the former prince. "Matter of fact, you've been acting quite strangely for a hot minute now. What's going on?"  
Hans rubbed the back of his neck for a moment, mortified. What he'd done was unprofessional, even rogue. Hades had trusted him enough to let him strike out on his own, for months, with no contact. After all, he and Hades had a contract; Hades owned his soul. And he'd just sparked an international incident based on a childhood grudge.

"You've no doubt wondered what I was up to, during the months since we last spoke."

"Yes, and I was going to get around to asking you, but it seems that I'm already asking that question," Hades said.

"I did something very foolish," Hans said grudgingly. "I killed my eldest brother."

Hades's eyes widened. "Gee, kid, you've told me that you had family issues before, but that was _not_ what I expected to hear."

"It's not that I feel remorse," Hans said, "because my heart is settled on that matter. But my execution was shoddy. I've created an international incident."

Hades frowned. "What do you mean?"

Hans sighed. "After I left Arendelle in early February, I went to the Southern Isles, and I tailed Maxwell for months. I had a dozen opportunities where I could have assassinated him cleanly and quietly, leaving no evidence, and therefore no presumed killer. But I was a damn, idealistic fool, and I decided early on that I would only kill him during one of the lavish parties in which he so publicly made a show of all his worst qualities. It was only that way, I told myself, that I could truly feel no remorse."

Hades's face was troubled in a way Hans hadn't seen before. He'd always had difficulty reading the deity's emotions, and today was no exception.

"So I waited until he threw one of these parties, and I hunted him down and I killed him. But I was acting on my own hatred. I wasn't thinking – if I had been, I'd have slipped into the night the moment I saw foreign men at that party. He was holding a clandestine meeting with a Tuscan count when I struck him down, and now the man's entire state will be incriminated with him."

"But you left survivors? Their testimony should exonerate the Italian, shouldn't it?" Hades mused.

"That was my own poor self-justification," Hans said. "But my father won't care. He'll be looking for revenge, and all he'll assume that all the men inside the room I killed him in were complicit in the Italian's plan. My father will demand blood as his price, and go to war."

"But surely, you couldn't blame yourself for that, right?" Hades asked. "You left witnesses to the truth. If your father will not listen to reason, then you couldn't have stopped him from doing something irrational, no matter what you did. If you'd cleanly killed Maxwell in the night, the King could still blame the French and wage war."

Hans rubbed his face. "I know. I've been down every logical path my actions led to, and plenty of others besides. The one truth I keep coming back to is that the way I did things, there's blood on my hands. I think that I'd be able to justify my innocence if I'd done it any other night, with only men from the Southern Isles in the room. No scapegoats to be found. If my father invents one, that's on his hands.

"But the way I killed him, Hades…" Hans let out a deep breath, mentally running back through the fight. "It was inhuman. I fought fifteen men armed with guns bare-handed, and I _won_. That's not just unlikely, that's _impossible._ I've started to realize how a rational man could deduce that every man from that room's story matches not because they describe the truth, but because they have been paid to unanimously paint a fiction that could not have happened. I've started to realize that a rational man would decide the Italians must have done it."

There was a long silence, after which Hans finished in a heavy voice.

"Which means that if there's a war, I am many times a murderer of the innocent men who will fight it."

The two were contemplative for some time. The only sound was the flickering of the flame atop Hades's head, a slow beat to give rhythm to their thoughts. Finally, the deity spoke.

"What do you need to do to make this right?"

Hans was surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I'm going to do what I can to keep the situation in the United States under control without your help, and that you're going to fix this. I'm giving you leave to do whatever it takes."

"But why?" Hans leaned against the oaken table. "This entire affair is tangent to our purposes, and if I spend time trying to fix it while we have an active crisis in America, it might compromise everything we're fighting for."

"I'm well aware of the gravity of the situation, thanks," Hades said drily. "But unfortunately, Hans, we have to play with the hand we're dealt in this wild game we call life. I'm not going to force you into something your heart isn't in, and I can tell that your heart won't be in anything until you've made amends. So I'm asking you to please do it quickly, and then we can get back down to business."

Hades started to leave the chamber, and Hans followed him. "If you're wondering why I haven't reprimanded you and told you that it was a dumb thing that you did, it's because I'm not going to. All of those statements are true, but you're intelligent enough to realize them for yourself. Recriminating your mistakes is just going to waste time that you could be spending making them right."

Hades un-shuttered the single lantern that lit the war room and blew it out, casting the chamber into darkness as they left it. "I'm going to give you fifteen days. Mr. Gold is going to be leaving New York City on the twenty-first, and I want you to be there to see him off. I imagine that he'll have some important information to pass along."

Hans was nodded, chagrined. He'd failed, and he knew it. Even if he was able to stop something horrible from happening in Europe, the wasted time might end up costing him lives in America. He hadn't considered the ramifications of his actions, and innocent people would be paying the price. He'd been selfish.

Heroes weren't selfish.

 _But you're not a hero,_ a haunting voice seemed to whisper, deep in the recesses of Hans's mind. _You were born a villain, you died a villain, and in undeath you're no better._


	8. Chapter Seven

Author's Note:

Many apologies for missing last week's upload, everyone. I had university midterms last week, and unfortunately the fanfic just couldn't be as much of a priority as I would have liked it to have been. This might happen again when finals come up, but I'll try to let you all know beforehand next time. In any case, we're back now.

xxx

Chapter Seven

 _Damascus did not anticipate, however, the magnitude of Argadon's betrayal. By the time the venerable wizard began to investigate his peer, Argadon had begun to gather a following with his whispered tales of ancient power._

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

The Western Vale,

Outskirts of Celestus

c. 3651 BC

A hundred overlapping shadows flitted across the vale as a cloud of birds passed by overhead, honking with a plaintive sense of urgency. Saghir Adulla's forehead creased in a frown as he gazed out to the horizon, looking up from his toil to see a dark cloud gathering beyond the hills.

"By the Immortal Spirits," the middle-aged farmer murmured to himself as he slung his threshing khopesh into the loop at his belt and jogged to the nearest of his four sons. "Asim!"

The tall, lean young man looked up from his own work. "Father?"

"Look to the horizon. There is a sandstorm coming." Saghir swore. "I don't know how one could have crept up on us like this. The seers haven't predicted a storm for months."

Saghir didn't vocalize the depths of his fears to his son, as he didn't want to worry the boy unnecessarily. But in truth, the older man was scared. He'd heard the whispered rumors amongst the townsfolk that Emperor Dominus had angered the Immortal Spirits with his claims of godhood. Perhaps an unpredictable storm was their punishment. Saghir quickly thought words of prayer to himself, entreating the gods to spare them their Emperor's pride.

Asim glanced back from the stormfront to his father. "Should I gather my brothers?"

"Yes," Saghir nodded to his son. "Get them all and get them back to the house. Make sure all the windows and doors are closed, and seal them any way you can. It looks like it's going to be a big one."

Asim nodded, and began gathering his own equipment. "What will you do, father?"

"I must warn the other farmers," Saghir said, his mind's eye already spanning the nearby fields and trying to determine who might not see the storm until it was already upon them. "Where is Calypso?"

Saghir looked about for the family's horse. They often let it walk unfettered, left to graze the farm's fields as it desired. It was a well-behaved animal, and a docile one, and the Adulla family generally had little reason to care where Calypso wandered. But now, by the immortals, he needed it.

"Calyspso!" Saghir shouted as his son trotted off to warn his brothers. "Where have you gone to?" Saghir turned full about and saw the mottled horse galloping towards him from behind, a wild and frightened look about it. It cantered to a halt and snorted as Saghir placed a hand on its snout to calm it. "Whoa, girl. Peace. Be at Peace."

He looked the beast in the eyes, and it grew calmer. "We must fly like the wind, Calypso," Saghir said as he swung himself onto its back. "We must fly to all the farms and warn our countrymen!"

At a touch of Saghir Adulla's heels, Calypso bolted, thundering away through the fields. Her rider cast his gaze towards the stormfront, and he felt a surge of dread. The wall of sand was approaching at an unheard-of clip. They would need the speed of the gods on their side.

They rode like the wind, and yet still, with each passing minute the air grew heavier with rough particulate. Saghir's eyes stung, and his voice grew hoarse from shouting at farmhands and from accumulation of dust. Calypso grew frightened, and nearly uncontrollable. The horse threatened to bolt at any moment, and Saghir's prowess as a rider was pushed to its limit as he fought to keep her steady.

They had warned the Hassan family, whose fields were behind a low hill – as such, they wouldn't have noticed the advancing storm until it hit them – and stopped to lend a hand in stabling animals and battening windows for several families. Time seemed to rush past like a river, and after less than ten minutes Saghir dared go no further. They had reached the old Daghatar farm, and the stormwall was mere minutes from impact. Saghir stabled Calypso with the family's two frightened horses, and took shelter with them in their humble adobe dwelling.

The storm rattled outside. The wooden boards stopping the windows rattled, and bits of sand and dust crept through the cracks. Saghir and the Daghatar family sat around their wooden table and waited tensely.

"Has it hit yet, daddy?" Their young daughter said in a small voice, tugging at her father's sleeve.

"Not yet, Sonia," Daghatar said. "Soon."

There was some more silence, save for the howling of the wind and the rattling of the door and window-boards. Daghatar's wife offered Saghir something to drink, which he politely accepted and used to force some of the chalk from his throat.

"Is your family safe?" She asked him. Saghir nodded. "I think so. I left my oldest son to make sure they all make it indoors. I trust him."

Being left outside in a Celestian sandstorm was nearly a death sentence. Even if one didn't suffocate from a clogged throat and lungs, they often died from lacerations across the body and face. Saghir had been into a sandstorm once before, in his youth, and it wasn't something he was eager to repeat. The force of the winds made stones no bigger than a grain of rice into little daggers.

Daghatar's wife opened her mouth to reply, but her words were lost as the stormwall hit.

There was a roar to shake the very foundations of the building, and one of the windows was blown open by the force. Daghatar rushed to the breach and slammed it closed again, fixing the boards into place in a frenzy. Saghir did what he could to help. Sonia cried, and had to be comforted by her mother. If time had slipped by easily before the storm hit, now it crawled. Saghir could feel his own heartbeat thumping.

For some time, the howling wind filled their ears. And then a voice came.

Saghir had never heard anything like it. The words seemed to come from within him, or at least they seemed to appear in his head unbidden. The voice was cruel and harsh, the voice of evil.

 _I AM EVERDARK. YOUR PRETENDER GOD HAS SLIGHTED ME, AND ALL OF HUMANITY WILL PAY THE PRICE. YOUR ANNIHILATION BEGINS NOW._

Before the words had time to fade from Saghir's ears, all of the windows and doors exploded inwards at once. Creatures were bursting through the walls, humanoid figures with sandblasted, dead skin and hollow faces. Then the screaming began.

Saghir fell back to the wall, coughing and trying to shield his eyes from the sand as the monsters fell upon the humans with blinding speed. Daghatar whipped about, kicking and punching at them for one moment, and then another, but then he was overwhelmed. Saghir opened his eyes to see Daghatar being torn limb from limb by the creatures, his blood tainting the floor. The screaming throttled Saghir's ears.

He stood and started to run, trying to ignore the screams of the family behind him. He felt a tug at his clothes, and turned to beat at the hand wildly, crying out in terror. He swung about just in time to see that he'd thrown off not the arm of one of the monsters, but little Sonia's. In a heartbeat, she was dragged into the circle of monsters and disappeared. Her shrieking was piercingly high.

Saghir's eyes widened, his breath caught as the sand whipped around him. He turned and ran. He ran to the stables, fighting for every step with his arm thrown in front of his face. He got inside and stopped, just for a moment, sobbing ragged breaths in this clear space, this space the sand hadn't reached. Nor the monsters.

 _He'd just killed a little girl._ The blind terror in the Sonia's eyes was burned into his psyche. But Saghir had no time to waste. He heard no more screams; perhaps because the wind covered them, or perhaps because the entire family was already dead. Those creatures had seen him; they'd come after him next. Saghir coaxed the reluctant Calypso from her pen and swung astride her, trying to instill the same sense of burning urgency he had into the horse.

He nudged her towards the door, but she wouldn't go out into the storm. She stomped her feet and snorted, eyes rolling wildly.

"Damnation, Calypso! We must get to our family, before it's too late! Please, I beg you!"

All at once, arms began to tear through the wooden walls of the stable, marking the arrival of the ungodly creatures. Calypso kicked wildly and screamed, galloping out of the stable and into the storm. It was as if the immortals themselves had lent wings to their flight; Calypso had never charged so fast through fair weather, let alone an apocalyptic storm.

The plains flew past, obscured past a distance of mere feet by the overwhelming grit. Saghir rode with an arm in front of his eyes and his mouth worked shut, and still his eyes burned and he tasted dirt. Every inch of his exposed skin seared, and rivulets of Calypso's blood made her body slick and difficult to hold to. It was hell.

They arrived at the Adulla farm in four minutes, a journey that would normally take them ten. No sooner had Saghir made out the outline of his house than Calypso's legs gave out. The horse fell onto its side and rolled, ejecting her rider and collapsing in a heap on the ground.

"Calypso!" Saghir forced himself to his feet and struggled to where the horse lay, only to find that she was already dead. Too wild with fear to care, he turned and waded through the winds to his house. As he came close, several figures stepped out of the open door and began to make their way towards him.

"Mila?" He shouted the name of his wife. "Asim? Is that you?"

The figures resolved into the decaying forms of the monsters. One worked its ragged jaw, glutted with human blood and viscera.

"No!" Saghir shouted, falling to his knees. "NO!"

The creatures continued their advance, slowly encircling the middle-aged farmer. As the nearest started to reach for him, Saghir felt a panic more deep and complete than he'd ever felt before. He was going to die the same horrible death that had already taken his family.

Suddenly, an object falling at extreme speed hit the ground beside him and exploded with radiant light. A brilliant white shockwave rolled out in every direction, staying the very winds of the storm and clearing the sand. Saghir let out a gasping cough and took a breath of fresh air, turning to see a figure clad in brilliant, silver armor standing from a crouch. She reached to her scabbard and drew a sword that glowed white and hot, like the sun.

Ashanerat the Protector moved with the ferocity of a storm to match the Annihilation, destroying the creatures with powerful swings of her blade. Every blow rang out like a thunderclap, emitting a white-hot brilliance like the death of a star. In the space of a heartbeat, the creatures lay in burning piles of limbs, scattered across the ground. A gauntleted hand extended to Saghir.

He grasped it, and Ashanerat pulled him to his feet.

"W-what is happening, Protector?" He stuttered, too overwhelmed with shock to even think.

Ashanerat turned to the horizon, her face heavy. "We are paying the price of our Emporer's ignorance. The Forgotten God has sworn Annihilation upon us."

She began to stride into the distance.

"No! Protector! Do not leave me!" Saghir's voice was ragged with wild fear and pain. He could not walk into the ruins of his house. He could not face what would be inside.

Ashanerat glanced over her shoulder. "I am sorry for your loss, citizen. Many have died today because we were caught unaware. But I may yet save more. I must do my duty."

She turned and stepped across the boundary her magic had created, back into the scouring sands. Saghir slowly laid against the ground and curled his knees to his chest. And he cried.

xxx

Elsa awoke in a cold sweat, gasping and clutching at her chest. Her heart pounded like gunfire as the haunting specter of her nightmare burned beyond her eyelids. She'd inadvertently slipped into the past again. It marked the fourth time in total that she'd visited Ashanerat's past, and during that time she'd begun to piece together a narrative.

She rolled out of bed in an unceremonious rush and fished around her bedside table for the matchbox, knocking over a container of eyeliner in the process. She managed to find it, and in a moment Elsa was coaxing a lantern-flame to life. Now with the light to search by, she padded around her room gathering a quill, some ink, and parchment, depositing it all at her desk and sitting to record as much as she could remember of the vision.

Elsa tucked her dressing-gown underneath her and dipped her pen, beginning to write with a manic frenzy, the horrible, wrenching fear she'd felt during the dream not yet faded entirely. The visions seemed to be following in chronological order, at least as far as she could tell. The queen gathered that her most recent had happened several months after the first, during a period in which the Celestian consulate had entreated their Emperor Dominus to renege his claims of godhood to appease Everdark. They had not succeeded.

Elsa set her pen in the pot for a moment to weave her hair into a bun at the back of her head, to keep it out of the way. Almost a year ago, when the Bavarian monk Wulfric Shaw had shared the story of Everdark's first rise to power with her, it had all seemed so otherworldly. The space of millennia had separated her from those events, and it was hard to think of the individual people as anything more than actors in some old play.

But that vision had been chillingly real. She'd heard the screams, seen the violence as those creatures had slaughtered the Celestian farmers. It made her mouth go dry to consider that the monsters might return.

Elsa finished her recording, and blew on the paper to dry the ink. As she filed it with the others, she couldn't help but feel a sense of hopelessness. She still hadn't learned anything about the words inscribed on Ashanerat's scabbard, even after hours spent following in the ancient hero's footsteps. Even if she did learn them, Elsa wasn't convinced that a few four thousand-year-old lines of verse would prepare her to save the world.

For a long time, Elsa sat at her desk, staring unblinkingly at no particular spot on the wall. When at last, the first kiss of the morning sun warmed her back, Elsa quietly rose to get ready for the day.

xxx

The campaigns were underway. With less than two weeks until the elections, one-hundred and forty-five men were vying for only thirty-two seats in the seminal Parliament. An understanding of the momentous nature of the event was in the air, and the entire city was abuzz with tense excitement. It was hardly possible to step outside without being bombarded from every angle with political news.

"Robert Wittiker is the smart choice for Precinct Six! Edouard Faust is the only man running for the twenty-sixth who will fight for a silver standard! Blaise Courrant will lower your taxes!" These statements and more ran in every newspaper, printed on hundreds of pamphlets, and shouted on street corners by paid urchins. All sorts of ads were designed to appeal to women, as well; though some of the more traditional candidates (most of those who had previously been a member of Arendelle's Court, to be sure) looked down their nose at the thought of 'groveling for female votes,' there were just as many who were convinced that winning the vote of women would mean winning their respective seats.

Beyond all of the excitement and spectacle that revolved around the politics themselves, a number of mathematicians from Lannister University had been employed to assist in the monumental task of tabulating what was expected to amount to over one hundred thousand votes. This had been done on the recommendation of former magistrate Charles Vander, who was still in the royal employ, now as Secretary of the Treasury. It turned out that the old man had a sense for numbers, and it was he who had informed Elsa that counting votes was far more than menial grunt-work.

It was actually, Elsa had learned, a fine science; all sorts of mathematical algorithms could be used to determine the winner of a precinct without counting all of the votes – as a matter of fact, these stuffy university men had informed the queen that they would usually be able to declare the winner of a race after counting only slightly more than half of the total votes, depending on how many candidates were vying for the seat.

Despite a number of setbacks, some expected, and others surprising, Elsa was rather pleased with the way the elections were going. Things had remained peaceful, there was a good diversity of interests represented among the candidates, and Angali's guild had thrown their weight behind Phillipe Du'Casse, Elsa's favored candidate.

She'd picked Du'Casse not because he was the perfect representation of her policy goals, but because he was close enough, and influential. He was a very rich banker, and he was funding not only his own campaign, but those of several other men – all close friends of the banking magnate – in other districts. Since they were all at least reasonably amenable to her, Elsa hoped that by endorsing Du'Casse, she would lend an advantage to them all.

Elsa stepped into the dining hall promptly at six. She had a busy day planned ahead, and she wasn't going to waste any time. To her surprise, the hall, which was normally empty, sans perhaps Montaigne, featured a cast of five or so advisors. As one, they stood up and bowed to her as she entered, one of them standing and producing a folded paper.

"Grave news, your majesty."

Before she could ask what the matter was, the man stepped forwards and handed her the morning's broadsheets. Elsa unfolded the paper and took in the headline: _KING WESTERGAARD OF SOUTHERN ISLES THREATENS REVENGE AGAINST SON'S MURDERERS, SAYS ATTACK 'PREMEDITATED.'_

"Your majesty," a matronly woman said from her seat at the table, "the European states are rapidly headed towards war."

Another chimed in, "We must prepare several plans of action. A complex web of alliances lay strung between Tuscany and the Southern Isles. If they come to conflict, it will not be long before we or one of our allies are called to arms."

Yet another, "Should we begin mobilizing the army, your majesty?"  
Elsa slowly took her seat, barely hearing the next six questions directed at her. Eventually she waved them quiet, and spoke in a measured voice.

"We will have time to discuss this all, ladies and gentlemen, but first, I am going to eat."

 _By God, Hans, you'd better fix this mess you've made._


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

 _Many have asked me to recant the inscription laid on the Protector's scabbard. Unfortunately, I never knew the Words of the Protector. Only those destined to follow Ashanerat's path will be so blessed and so cursed, I think._

 _The Bard Rhennalus,_

 _from 'The Histories'_

* * *

Olympia,

The Southern Isles

June 19th, 1843

When guardsman Carmelo's replacement arrived at five, he pointed the man towards a bench alongside the Lasseter Bank, where the same figure had been seated since at least noon when Carmelo had arrived.

"I'm not sure what that fellow's up to, mate, but I figure it's best to keep an eye on him all the same," Carmelo told his fellow guard. "Normal folks don't take up outside the palace and stare at the walls for hours on end. Hasn't even got a broadsheet or nothing with'im for reading."

"I'll keep an eye out," Smart nodded. "All the same, it's probably just a beggar with nothing better to be spending his time on."

The pair of guards made a bit of small talk, and before long Carmelo was on his way, whistling the tune to an old nursery rhyme to himself (he was a recent father, and his little one had an insatiable hunger for rhymes). Smart took up his position, straightened his back, and laid his rifle against his shoulder. He was content to people-watch for a few minutes; the street before the palace gates was busy with end-of-workday traffic, and there was plenty to keep his attention. After a few minutes, Smart glanced over at the bench Carmelo told him to keep an eye on, and to his surprise, the man was gone.

 _Huh. Suppose the fellow found something better to do after all,_ Smart mused to himself.

As it turns out, he had.

xxx

Hans blended with the crowd of business men, shedding his beggar's robes to reveal a modern-looking suit underneath. He deftly folded the tattered rags and tucked them into a leather suitcase as he walked, stashing them just above the grappling hook, doing up the latches, and then returning the case to his side as he ducked his head and sped his pace to match the commuters around him. They were walking along a wide thoroughfare with the palace walls on the opposite side of the street; directly to Hans's left was a burgeoning business sector that was quickly becoming one of Olympia's most defining characteristics.

He reached an intersection, and turned pointedly to cross the street; he had to wait for a few carriages to pass before there was an opening. As he crossed, Hans adjusted his tie, loosening it a bit in anticipation of fighting. He'd deliberately had the suit tailored an inch or two too large through the shoulders, as well, to give him extra space to conceal under-the-shoulder holsters for guns. It had the added benefit of widening his range of motion after the revolvers were removed, as well.

Hans reached the wall and began now to walk along it, doubling back towards the gates he'd left behind just moments before. He murmured softly to himself, trying to pin down the accent he wanted to use on the guard. A youth spent in the Southern Isles had given him a solid fluidity between the several dialects, but it was hard to decide which would give him the right mixture of authority, and yet familiarity, that would drive the guard to believe him.

He settled his mind on lower-third near the wharfs and walked up to the man, clearing his throat with a sense affable urgency. "Good evening, sir."

Ethan Smart nodded to Hans, and flickered his gaze forwards again before he realized that Hans had been asking for his attention. "Yes? What can I do for you, sir?"

"Well, you see, sir, I have an appointment with the master servant. I represent the fellows at Endelmann-Brachs," Hans said, slipping back into this alias like an old glove. "My name is Harrison MacDonald. They'll recognize me by name."

Hans felt no small amount of ironic bemusement that he was trying to pull one over an unsuspecting person with roughly the same alias for the fourth time; it was the second that he'd been trying to get into a palace after typical calling hours, and the third accent he'd used for it. After a certain point, stories would start spreading about the strange 'MacDonald fellow' who showed up at a palace in the early evening just before all hell broke loose. A small silver lining was that he actually had been practicing his accents, and they'd been getting better.

"Endelmann-Brachs?" The mere guard, of course, wouldn't have any idea which ledgers the royal palace would be on, so using the name of one of Europe's most prominent banks was a plausible enough fallback. "Well, I suppose I'll be needing some identification, then. Didn't hear anything from Henry about you showing up."

"Yes, well, you see," Hans said as he made a show of patting down a few different pockets before – _aha!_ he'd left it in his breast pocket – he pulled out his wallet and removed a card from it. He'd lifted a calling card from the Olympia branch of the Endelmann-Brachs offices, and paid a local con artist to make some modifications. It would be convincing enough to fool the guard. "It's a spur-of-the-moment thing. Just got a missive from the old sport this morning. One of the royal indexes has gone insolvent, and we need to discuss potential reallocation strategies. I'll spare you the rather dry details."

Hans had to stomach an internal wince on this one. He was using rather dense buzzwords, the type that tended to make lies sound suspicious. He wasn't thinking on his feet well tonight. Hopefully it wouldn't cost him later.

Clearly, the lingo had gone over Smart's head. Ironically enough, the man seemed rather dull. He nodded absently as he handed the card back. "Well, sir, everything seems to be in order. I trust that you're here often enough to show yourself the way?"

"You have no idea," Hans said, smiling as he stepped past the guard. "Have a nice night, sir."

xxx

Hans spent some time circling discreetly about the palace yards. He knew this place like the back of his hand, from the speciation of the trees in the gardens to the guardsmans' beats, and as such it was easy for him to get about unnoticed. After all, he'd spent a rather large part of his childhood wandering these grounds, hoping not to be found.

He walked without a specific destination in mind – at least, not one that he would admit to himself. Ostensibly, he was searching for a place that his grappling hook would allow him to scale the side of the palace. Of course, by the time he came within a hundred feet of that hill, he was ready to admit to himself that this was where he'd wanted to go from the beginning. He gazed up at the lone willow tree, and the bench beside it, that sat atop the only hill on the eastern side of the palace grounds. He took a deep breath, and he started towards it.

Hans hadn't set foot on these grounds for nearly four years, but this place, at the very least, looked the same as he remembered it. He wasn't sure, as he crested the little slope, whether he preferred it this way, or whether he would rather time have swept away this little part of Hans's past. He came to the top of the hill, and stood in place, taking in the tree and the little wooden bench, and trying to understand what he was feeling.

He took a step closer to the tree and touched its surface, his eyes indiscernible as he scanned it for the markings he knew would be there. _Aha._ He traced his index finger along a little heart, scratched into the tree, along with the initials _HW_ and _MJ._ Hans Westergaard and Mallory James. The former prince took a very long breath, and then collapsed, rather than sat, onto the old bench.

He knew that it was a delusion of the mind, but he swore that he could still gather some measure of her scent. The wind blew, and Hans heard traces of her laugh. So many years had passed, but he still wasn't ready to let Mallory go. So many years had passed, and he still lived a live sculpted by her death. So many choices he'd made, he'd made because of her. Either because he wanted to bring honor to her memory, or more often, because without her he felt like he didn't have anything to lose anymore.

He felt a dull ache that reminded him that he really had no earthly artifact to remember her by. The things they'd given each other were so transient, in hindsight. A bouquet of roses given eight years ago did little to ameliorate his hurt now. She'd given him not things, but love, and when her time was up and she couldn't give him that anymore, Mallory had given him words to live by. Every day, he wished that he'd done a better job of living those words.

Hans wasn't sure how long he spent, sitting on that bench and thinking. He did know that by the time he stood again, the sun was dipping down to the horizon. There was no more time to waste. He had work to do.

Hans approached the palace walls, kneeling down and depositing his suitcase on the grass fifty feet below where his mother and father's chambers were. At least, if they hadn't moved them. He cracked open the suitcase and withdrew his grappling hook and about thirty feet of rope, bunching it loosely and holding it by his side. He looked up.

The former prince hadn't brought enough rope to scale the palace at once, but even if he had, it wouldn't have made much of a difference. Even a man in peak physical form couldn't throw the hook fifty feet into the air. His familiarity with his family's palace, however, assisted him. The building was eight stories tall, with the royal quarters on the fifth. Halfway up the walls there was a step inwards, somewhat like a tiered cake. The top of those walls had served as a station for archers to defend the castle from during the Middle Ages; as a matter of fact, the four upper stories weren't added until a few hundred years after the construction of the rest of the palace.

In earlier days, it had been more of a rugged castle, built to defend against the other feudal states of Northern Europe. Form dominated function, and the lower four stories were built of a dark onyx, now crept with lichens and vines, perforated with arrow-slits on the second and third floors. There had even once been a moat, though it had been filled and paved over in the seventeenth century to create another street for businesses in the rapidly expanding commercial city of Olympia. The highest stories had been constructed in the same century, and they were more akin to the old Arendane palace – large, colorful windows, decorative wooden facades, and angled, shingled roofs.

Hans was aiming for one of the arrow-slits on the third floor; from there he'd be able to scale to the crenellations surrounding the fourth, and then he'd have fairly easy access to windows that let into his parents' wing of the castle. He took a deep breath and a step backwards, letting out a bit of slack from the rope and focusing on the area he needed to hit. Just as he was about to throw, he heard voices overhead and stopped himself short. Hans pressed himself to the wall and listened.

A pair of soldiers were coming around the side of the castle up above, walking on the wall above the fourth floor. From this distance, he couldn't make out individual words, but one of them laughed. They didn't sound alert.

Hans waited until the voices faded again and made the throw; it took a few tries, but eventually he managed to land the hook in the small slit. It didn't yield to a few tugs, so he pulled himself horizontal and started walking up the wall, pulling himself hand over hand. He was cautious to remain as quiet as possible; he expected there to be far more security about since Maxwell's assassination. King Westergaard probably expected that the assassin would be coming after him, too.

Which was exactly right, as a matter of fact.

Hans reached the arrow-slit on the second story, and managed to wedge a foot into it. He could rest just a bit now, and he took turns taking one hand and then the other off the rope, clenching and unclenching his fists. _These hands aren't the hands of a prince anymore,_ Hans thought, looking at their rough calluses. Even while some things remained the same, other parts of him would be practically unrecognizable to the fop that had fallen head over heels for the admiral's daughter.

He kept going. Another minute or two, and he managed to drag himself and his hook over the fourth-floor crenellations and rolled onto the wall. Hans stood up and glanced around. It was growing rather dark, and he would need to rely mostly on hearing to tell him if he'd been spotted. He drew a small, machined-looking knife from one of his sleeves and stepped up to one of the ornate windows.

A thin scratching noise sounded uncomfortably loud to Hans's ears as he worked the glass cutter. He glanced over his shoulder every now and again, but he didn't see any guards approaching, or hear any shouts. Perhaps he was wrong; maybe security hadn't been increased in response to the attacks after all. It made Hans wary.

He finished cutting the glass and lightly tapped on the pane. It fell inwards, and he hurriedly reached into the gap and caught the cutout, twisting it sideways and pulling it back through the hole he'd made. Hans set it carefully on the ground beside the window and awkwardly slipped through the breach, wincing as he cut himself on a ragged edge.

Inside, all was dark, save the square, illuminated by the window, in which he knelt. The former prince crept into the shadow and waited, slipping one hand inside his coat to hold the grip of one of his pistols. He waited in this way for the better part of a minute, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Eventually, he heard the footsteps and voices of the soldier pair he'd seen patrolling the walls earlier approaching from outside, and he decided that it was best to get moving.

Hans recognized the room he was in as his father's personal study. He hadn't been in here much as a child; King Westergaard didn't appreciate intrusion on his work. The former prince picked his way around the old desk and crept through the room, slipping into the chamber beyond and shutting the door behind himself. He didn't wait to hear if the guards noticed the hole he'd made in one of the windows.

Now, he was in his parents' sitting chamber; through that door – no wait, _that_ one – he would find their bedroom. He took a silent breath. Hans hadn't spoken to his mother in… four years? Almost four years. He didn't know what to expect. On the one hand, she hadn't even objected when King Westergaard had sentenced him to death. Her only true son, her only blood among the King's children, and she hadn't fought to save him.

On the other hand, at that time, he hadn't been worth fighting for.

His father, on the other hand, was a simpler matter. Hans hated King Westergaard almost as much as Maxwell. His father was arrogant, vain, and cruel. He'd actively encouraged competition between his sons, viewing each conflict as a Machiavellian lesson to be taught to them. He'd played favorites, as well; Hans and all of his brothers had known that the king loved Maxwell best, and he frequently took strides to prove it.

Even now, Hans expected his father to be deep in mourning for a son who didn't even deserve to be remembered.

He stopped, his hand an inch from the doorknob. It was shaking, raw with emotion. With hatred.

 _Your father deserves your hatred,_ a voice inside him said. _He encouraged your brothers to beat you, because he thought you were weak. When you begged him to make them stop, he sneered and called you effeminate. You spent your entire childhood trying to prove yourself worthy to a man who wished you'd never been born._

 _Perhaps it is time to show him just how strong you've become._

Hans took a ragged breath. No. No, he wasn't here to kill his father. Violence had gotten him into this mess, and it wasn't going to get him out. He slowly opened the bedroom door and stepped over the threshold.

The room was quite large, at least thirty feet square, and decorated in a way that Hans still instantly recognized as his mother's style. He heard a light snoring from their bed. Good. He went to the bedside table and lit a candle, scooping up the dish and pulling back the curtains around their bed.

"Evening, father. Mother." He deliberately spoke loud enough to wake them. For a moment, they stirred, rolled over, and then both of his parents started violently, grabbing at their chests and at each other and gasping.

For several seconds, the king and his wife gaped and stared at Hans, unable to believe their eyes. They tried to speak, but couldn't.

"It would seem that rumors of my demise have been quite unfounded," Hans said. "I'm quite disappointed to say, however, that I expected a warmer greeting from my dear old folks. After all, you haven't seen me in… what? Almost four years, now?"

Hans's mother fainted in a gasp. The King, however, recovered his faculties and threw aside the bedsheets, standing in his dressing-gown and jabbing a finger at Hans's chest. "Now, you listen here, you sick bastard. I don't know who the hell you are, how you got in here, or why you're exploiting my poor wife's frailty, but if you don't get out of my bedroom this instant, I swear to God –"

"You swear what?" Hans said, standing his ground and sneering at his father. "You'll have me killed? You already tried that, once." He spread his arms. "Why don't you have another go, right now? We'll see how it goes this time."

The king studied Hans's face, his eyes flickering back and forth. He bore the tortured expression of a trapped animal, unable to understand what was going on and yet very sure that it was a terrible threat. The king didn't want to believe, but he couldn't see any other explanation.

"I'm actually rather glad mother fainted," Hans said. "This way, she won't have to watch if things get violent."

As he spoke, he slowly drew one of his pistols from within his coat. Its polished metal gleamed even in the wan candlelight. Though Hans wasn't planning on hurting his father, part of the plan demanded that he believe Hans was going to.

"You fucking bastard," the king said, his voice a furious, revelatory whisper. "It was you who killed Maxwell."

Hans turned around and strolled back to the room's desk, setting down the candle and turning to face his father. He'd deliberately turned his back as a display of power; he didn't even need to keep his gun pointed at his father.

"Yes." He said simply.

"You were always jealous of his success," King Westergaard growled. "You fucking coward. You weren't half the man he was."

Hans took a slow breath. He concealed his anger, if just barely. _Make him bleed._

"Your favorite son was a sleazy criminal. He got only what he deserved."

"You lie!" King Westergaard roared. "I don't know how you stand before me alive, but I do know that it involved cowardice and lies. All you've ever done is lie, goddammit!"

 _Going to need to speed this up a bit,_ Hans thought. _Can't have old dad rousing a bunch of soldiers. I'd hate to have to kill anyone innocent._

"Listen to me, father, or I will not hesitate to put a bullet in you." Hans spoke more quickly now, pulling back his Colt's hammer and keeping it trained at the king's heart. "It was I who killed Maxwell Westergaard. Not the Tuscan. The man is guilty of illegal dealings with your eldest son, and that alone. I trust that by now, your investigators have uncovered evidence of Maxwell's human trafficking operations, his opioid smuggling, and perhaps even more that I didn't discover for myself.

"The investigators, of course, will have quietly covered it all because they didn't want to offend your delusions of Maxwell's grandeur. I suggest that you open your fucking eyes and look at the truth for once. Also, I wouldn't worry about reaching the servant's bell and calling for help, father. If you so much as lay a finger on it, I'll make your death very painful."

His father stopped, ashen. He knew that Hans was serious. He'd heard the reports, and seen his son's corpse. Somehow, Hans had dispatched a room of fifteen armed men at once, and then he'd brutally slit Maxwell's throat. It was a nightmare. Everything about this was a nightmare.

"But I digress," Hans said coolly. "Whether or not you continue to idolize Maxwell, my duty remains the same."

"Your duty?"

"Yes. I killed Maxwell. The Italian is innocent of the crime he stands accused for. I know that you seek war as repentance for him, and I tell you that you are foolish to consider this. Spilling more blood will not bring him back."

"Someone must pay for his death."

"Exacting a price on innocent men from your own country and from the Mediterranean is not atonement. It is murder." Hans thought he heard footsteps in the sitting chamber. Best wrap this up quickly. "But I do not expect you to be rational, father. I've never expected that. So instead, I offer you an ultimatum."

"And what is that?" The king spat, eyes glittering with hatred.

At that very moment, a trio of soldiers threw open the bedroom's door and charged in towards Hans, shouting misplaced oaths of fealty to the crown. He sighed.

Hans twisted and _accelerated,_ stepping past one man's blade and catching him at the wrist. The former prince twisted in a roll over the guard's arm, snapping his wrist and forcing him to his knees. Hans re-holstered his revolver as he flipped and drew a knife, landing in a crouch with the blade held backwards in his left hand.

He twisted as he stood and slung the knife underhand into an advancing soldier's hand, severing several of the unfortunate man's fingers and sending his sword flying. Hans caught the man's blade and rapidly flipped it around, planting in the same fellow's foot and skewering him to the floor. The former prince wheeled on the last man, who'd just gotten a revolver to bear.

The guard emptied the entire chamber in the space of a few seconds. The air around Hans distorted as he threw himself backwards, shielding his face with his arms. His magic pushed the bullets astray, shots sent dead at his heart flying wild and missing entirely. He hissed with pain as one slug grazed his shoulder, tearing open his coat and drawing blood. Hans landed a few feet further back, in a crouch.

In a fluid movement, he put a hand to each of his holsters and drew both of his guns, firing them with crossed wrists into both of the last soldier's kneecaps. There was a spray of dark blood onto the carpet and the man collapsed, screaming in pain.

He wasn't the only one screaming. Hans holstered his smoking guns and turned to see his mother, recovered from her faint and holding both hands over her ears. She was incoherent, but her voice hit Hans like a physical blow. It was panicked, the kind of scream that came from someone about to die. She thought he was going to kill her.

The king crouched against the wall, terrified. He'd never seen someone fight so effortlessly, so effectively. It wasn't human.

"The ultimatum is this, father," Hans said coldly as he rolled his wounded shoulder. It hurt, but not worse than anything he'd dealt with before. "Declare war against any nation, blame any state for Maxwell's death, and I will kill you. I trust that this little demonstration provides enough evidence that I'm serious."

The king didn't respond. Hans knew that he'd heard the words. That was all that mattered. And so he left, turning back and picking his way over the screaming, wounded men, and made his way back out into the sitting room. From there, it was back into his father's office, out through the window, and into the night.

His job was done, and with a full two days to spare.


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

 _The world might have fallen forever into darkness had not there been a hero to light the way to safety._

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

New York City,

New York

June 21st, 1843

Despite the late hour, a steady stream of people, omnibuses, and carriages clattered along Nassau street, passing the headquarters of the increasingly influential Tammany Hall on their way to here or there. Hans was part of this crowd, crossing below the grand stone hotel that was increasingly becoming the face of the New York political machine. He was surprised by how many gas lanterns there were, lining the streets; a warm glow painted the wide boulevard even late into the night, assuaging fears of petty crime and keeping street corners full with young men and women, out on the town.

This was a heavily Irish part of Manhattan, and Hans found that, due to his auburn hair and distinctly European face, he fit right in among the local paddies. He worked his way past a group of young Irish boys talking and laughing in a heavily Cockneyed accent and came to his destination, a small and dingy-looking bar growing increasingly dwarfed by the buildings reaching for the sky around it. Hans peered for a moment in vain through the soot-stained windows, unsuccessfully trying to make anything out through the opaque glass. After another moment or two, he gave up and stepped inside.

The Celtic Maiden would celebrate her fiftieth birthday later this year, a venerable establishment dating back to days when New York City was a little town of ninety thousand people, spread comfortably throughout lower Manhattan. The 1840 census made credible claims that the city's population was now in excess of one million, and it had over-tripled in landmass. The Celtic Maiden was a relic from a simpler era, from its creaky-but-sturdy old furniture, down to the handcrafted, old-Irish lagers it served. In its lifetime it had only known two owners, the current one the elderly son of the Maiden's founder. The Celtic Maiden was exactly the sort of charming, yet antiquated, business that was being stomped out of a fast-paced city that simply couldn't accommodate it anymore.

There were only twelve tables in the foyer, with the bar off to the right; it didn't take Hans long to determine that the man he was looking for wasn't here. The former prince checked his pocketwatch as he crossed the room. Ten-fifteen. He was supposed to meet Mr. Gold in fifteen minutes. Hans took a seat at the bar and scratched at his beard as he looked at the bottles set up for display behind the counter.

After a moment, the barkeep broke off from conversation with one of his customers and strolled over. "What'll it be, mick?"

Hans glanced over at the venerable owner of the establishment. "I'm not sure, actually. I'm a foreigner, and I don't recognize any of these breweries," he said, looking at the labels. "I usually drink something dark. Surprise me."

He placed two pennies on the table; just a few hours earlier, he'd gone through the surprisingly complex task of exchanging some money for US currency. Luckily, their money was remarkably intuitive. Everything was divisible by one hundred, and the coins were easy to work with. It spoke to the industrious spirit of these people.

"What brings you to the big city, then?" The owner said as he fished a well-polished mug from beneath the counter and walked over to a tapped barrel. "Family?"

"A friend, actually," Hans said, not too worried about leveling with this fellow. He was determined not to allow this business to make him paranoid. "Supposed to be meeting him here in just a few minutes. It's on his recommendation that we chose your bar."

"Well, I'll have to thank him then," the owner said, handing him the mug, filled with a deep amber beer with a pleasant head. "Now that's an Amberboch, sir, a very fine brewer, 'n I know the owner, too. Fine chap."

Hans took a drink, and was pleased. He didn't have much time to enjoy it, however, because a moment later, the ringing of a small bell marked the opening of the door. Hans turned and saw a man step across the threshold dressed all in black, wearing a tall hat and limping slightly with a cane. Mr. Gold glanced about, noticed Hans, and jerked his head towards a table in the corner.

Hans took his leave from the bar and sat across from Mr. Gold, surprised to see that the mysterious man had a deep gash across his forehead. It appeared to be a few days old, and it wasn't getting the attention it needed.

"It's been awhile," Mr. Gold growled. He grimaced, flashing a golden crown. "Last time I saw you, I believe you'd just been in a cell in Olympia for three years."

"That's right."

"You look healthy," Mr. Gold said gruffly. "Freedom suits you."

"I wish I could say the same for you," Hans replied. "What happened to your head?"

"We'll work our way around to that," Mr. Gold replied. He turned towards the bar and raised his voice, barking to the keeper, "Connor! Bring me a bottle of Hennessy, and something cold to put on my head."

The Maiden's owner nodded, and busied himself fetching the items. Mr. Gold turned back to Hans and groaned a bit as he shifted his weight. "I'm glad you're here, boy. I'm too damn old to be running around, doing this shit."

Mr. Gold lapsed into silence, and Hans let him while they waited for the cognac. When he got his drink, Mr. Gold poured himself a shot immediately and downed it, then poured himself another and sat back in his chair.

"How much did Hades tell you?"

"Are you worried about the privacy of our conversation?" Hans asked, glancing around at the people seated at nearby tables. They weren't exactly safe from eavesdroppers.

Mr. Gold looked around at the other men in the bar for a few moments. "No," he growled. "None of these fellows look like their listening in, and retiring to a private room would rouse an undue amount of suspicion."

Mr. Gold had also seated himself in a corner, facing the rest of the room. From there, he could watch the rest of the bar as they talked, keeping an eye out for someone who seemed like they might be too interested in their rendezvous. Hans nodded.

"He didn't tell me much, though it was all he knew," Hans said with a grimace. "At the time, it was little more than that the Cult of Entropy had gained a foothold here. Hades assumed that they're masquerading as some sort of fundamentalist Christian society."

"I wish that were the truth," Mr. Gold said. "That was what I'd hoped for as well. Traveling fundamentalist groups hold revivals up and down the country; they're very popular in this country these days. Such a large gathering of Everdark's followers would leave a trail quite easy to follow. No, our opponent is far too crafty for something like that."

Hans frowned. "Surely they haven't managed to infiltrate the government already?"

Mr. Gold twisted his chair a bit and straightened his gimp leg, grimacing as he held a beer bottle to his forehead. "I don't think that the word _infiltrate_ is appropriate, exactly," the man said. "Because _infiltrate_ would imply that they have been required to use deception to hide among the shadows of society. Here they have been welcomed with open arms, it seems."

"What have you learned?" Hans said, his frown deepening.

"I have strong reason to believe that the United States senator Silas Wright has sworn allegiance to the Dark God. He's a freshman senator, installed just this February, and I'd be willing to bet that the Cult of Entropy earned him his seat."

United States Senators were not directly elected in 1843; as a matter of fact, they wouldn't be until seventy years later when the 17th Amendment was ratified. At that time, the political class was even more distinct than today, with Congressional seats passed among friends and affluent donors, elected by easily corruptible state legislatures. If the Cult of Entropy had won Wright's seat, it had likely taken some combination of bribery and coercion of local politicians.

And that was the sort of thing that took time. While they'd been frantically fighting to save Corona and Arendelle during the winter, it seemed that the long gaze of Everdark had already been pointed towards the Americas.

"What makes you think Wright is associated?" Hans took another drink, but he hardly tasted anything.

"A bit of an accident and a spot of luck," Mr. Gold replied. "When I was operating under the theory that the Cult might be masquerading as traveling revivalists, I was doing some digging around the city, trying to figure out if anyone was keeping tabs on the religious groups moving around the state. Apparently, I was making too much noise.

"Six days ago, I was ambushed by a street gang. One of them was so kind as to leave me this-" he grunted as he adjusted his grip on the bottle, "- little parting gift as a reminder. I kept one of the young gentlemen alive, and managed to coerce from him the name of his employer."

Hans didn't like the thought of Mr. Gold killing a bunch of young men only tangentially related to this mess, but he supposed that in times of duress, one doesn't exactly get to be picky about their allies.

"He referred me to a Mr. Caiphus Black."

Of course, the gang's employer wouldn't have used his real name. So it would be a pseudonym.

"I spent the rest of the day hiding among the New York underground, never staying in one place for more than an hour. I believe that I managed to avoid a few more assassination attempts entirely. I spoke to some men whose tongues could be loosened with coin or drink, and it seemed that Caiphus Black was a well-known employer.

"None had seen him personally, but they all knew his name. He paid very well, they told me, but only for brutal work. The kind of stuff that makes even hardened criminals think twice. I spent the night in an alleyway, disguised as a beggar. My decision was validated soon after; I quickly learned that seven different inns in Queens were raided, in some way or another, that night."

"Seven?" Hans echoed. The kind of manpower that Wright was able to field, on such a short notice, was daunting.

"Yes. It seems that Everdark has been playing softball with us," Mr. Gold grimaced. "Surviving the night, however, and learning about the attacks, proved quite useful in narrowing down the suspects. Mr. Caiphus Black was, by necessity, a ridiculously well-connected fellow if he was willing to order seven breaking-and-entering intrusions in one night without worrying about criminal charge. He was confident that he was above the law. Additionally, I could eliminate the possibility of a legitimate crime kingpin."

"Why is that?"

"Because I know all of New York's crime bosses," Mr. Gold said. "And none of them would dare try to kill me. Besides, Everdark has no need for criminals. Men of crime, they delude themselves into thinking that they have power. They have money, and they have enemies, but they don't really control anything. True power is measured by how one's words shape the world around him. Everdark needs men with a voice."

Mr. Gold adjusted his position again. It seemed his leg was flaring up, causing him some pain. "Now, The Dark God can go about that two different ways. It can court rich and powerful men, men that have the ear of their politicians, or it can court the politicians themselves. Of course, politicians themselves are by far the easier conquest."

"Why?"

"Because rich men already have their own ideas and agendas. They can't easily be sworn to a cause, because you can't bribe them effectively, and they are legitimately powerful enough that they're difficult to threaten. At least, difficult with the scope of influence we presume Everdark to be working with.

"On the other hand, politicians were made to be corrupted, Hans. They all have their seats because of dirty money, and they're willing to open their ear to the most unsavory of characters as long as they might come out ahead for it. All Everdark needs to win some to its cause is a bit of coin and a few charismatic voices."

Hans nodded. "Alright. How did you narrow it down to the senator?"

"A bit of intuition. Once I knew that It was a politician, I looked into the local men. It would be a newer man, because he wouldn't have had years to build up a political ideology. It would be a man without a background in politics or fortunes, yet who seemed to have plenty of money to burn. It would be a man who didn't speak about his religion publicly. While I can't be absolutely certain, of course, Silas Wright fits that bill perfectly."

Hans nodded as the older man lapsed into silence again. The pair brooded over their drinks for a few minutes before Hans spoke again.

"So what do we do?"

"It's what _you_ do, I'm afraid," the older man growled as he jabbed his forefinger at Hans. "Hades needs my help in the Orient. We're worried about the Cult's presence in China."

Hans nodded blankly, trying to envision Hades's map with all the little pawns, representing the Cult of Entropy's movements. He wondered if Hades was running out of pawns to fit onto that map.

"Hades tells me that you're a 'shoot first, ask questions later sort of guy,'" Mr. Gold said with a hint of derision. "I can assure you, Hans, that such a strategy is quickly losing stock against the Dark God. Everdark is far too intelligent to be taken by surprise indefinitely. It will anticipate your abilities this time, and be ready to counter them with overwhelming force."

Mr. Gold stood up, leaving a few dirty coins on the table. "You want my advice?"

"Yes," Hans replied, standing as well. He stood far taller than Mr. Gold, but the old man didn't shrink back.

"You're going to need to use your head, Hans. More than you currently are, anyway. You might punch hard and shoot straight, but I can promise you that Everdark has men who can punch harder and shoot straighter. Be careful."

Mr. Gold picked up his cane and started limping for the door, raising a hand in farewell to the barkeeper. Hans watched him go, the old man's words burning in his ears.

xxx

That same night, Elsa nestled herself into a loveseat in the sitting room just off of her quarters, neatly folding her legs onto the seat beside her. Odette sat right beside her, pushing her glasses up her nose as she pored over a bundle of papers. Elsa passed a cup of tea to her former magistrate and took a sip of her own, looking over Odette's shoulder at the old manuscripts.

"Any progress?" She said. Earlier in the day, Odette had told her that she'd cobbled together some books on cuneiform and other hieroglyphics used during ancient times. At first, the young scholar had mostly been interested in writing forms known to be used by Arabic peoples, but her search hadn't yielded much in the way of results. So now she broadened the lens, taking everything that seemed even tangentially relevant on the subject of decoding ancient writing.

"Not much," Odette admitted.

It was to be expected. Translating from ancient languages required far larger samples of writing than the four lines of text that were inscribed on Ashanerat's scabbard. It usually helped to have evidence of transformation in the language as well; it is an exceeding coincidence of the world, or perhaps a reaffirmation of the unanimity of humanity, that most of its languages adapt and evolve in predictable ways. At least, that's the way Odette thought about it.

"I'm not a linguist, unfortunately," she said.

Elsa leaned into Odette and traced her fingernails around the girl's back. "I know. On the other hand, you're one of the most brilliant people I know. Also, I trust you."

"That's what I was about to say," Novare said, turning and pursing her lips. "I mean, if we sent this off to the university, I'm sure we'd have experts selling their mothers to get a chance to work on this."

"Wulfric Shaw gave this quest to me," Elsa said, not really responding to the statement directly. Partly, because she wasn't really convicted about this. "I don't feel guilty asking you to help me, because he spoke to you as well."

"I'm not sure that's a convincing argument," Odette smiled teasingly. "It's quite possible that my presence during that conversation was merely a consequence of being in the wrong place at the right time."

Elsa feigned indignation. "If I _do_ recall correctly, Miss Novare, he specifically said that you were going to prove quite useful to me. So, chop-chop, now." Elsa clapped her hands twice to accentuate the statement.

She started to laugh as she said the words 'make yourself useful,' and wasn't able to finish. Odette turned and gazed at her with Elsa's own, iconic, half-lidded eyes. "Are you quite through?" She said imperiously.

"Yes, yes," Elsa replied, smiling and kissing Odette's cheek. "I take it all back."

"Don't take back the part where you said I'm going to be useful," Odette said with a smirk. "Given as I haven't figured anything useful out yet, it's nice to have a positive affirmation behind me."

Elsa sighed. "Don't beat yourself up over it, Odette. Leave it be for tonight."

Eventually, Odette set the papers down and sat back, wrapping her arms around the queen. They sat in amiable silence for a few seconds before Elsa spoke again.

"I'm starting to think that the entire thing is patently ridiculous."

"I've thought about that too," Odette admitted. "The simple fact is, most religious traditions have little grounding in fact. For example, even accepting the premise that Jesus of Nazareth was the child of God, we've no legitimate reason to celebrate his day of birth on Christmas day. There's nothing sacrosanct about that date, in particular. It was just arbitrarily decided upon by fourth-century Roman –"

Odette realized that she'd gone full scholar-mode. "Sorry."

Elsa laughed. "Don't apologize. I like it. But yes, I can't help but wonder if that old scabbard in my room is a false idol to Wulfric Shaw and his Keepers."

"Are you worried about the elections?" Odette asked, abruptly changing the topic.

Elsa turned to look at her. "Are you? Where'd this come from?"

Odette seemed to be putting her thoughts in order. "Well, yes, I am. Not just for the immediate consequences at home, and what it could mean if some of the more reactionary candidates win, but also about our standing abroad."

Elsa shifted her position to face Odette more directly. "Okay, shoot."

"The larger European community isn't very happy about what you're doing here."

"Not really surprising," Elsa said.

"Not surprising, perhaps, but not without implications, either," Odette countered. "And while it's not a big deal if foreign kings and queens don't like what you're doing here when their attention is being held elsewhere, I'm worried about these elections becoming a major concern for Europe now that the whole Southern Isles-Tuscany thing is settling down."

Just this morning, information that King Westergaard of the Southern Isles and Leopoldo II of Tuscany were in private talks to settle the affair had become public, and much of Europe had sighed in relief. The Southern Isles would likely demand the execution of the Italian count who had been caught during the whole affair as reparations, and the Tuscans would likely accede. For all the Italians knew, it really was the count who had engineered Maxwell's assassination. Elsa tried not to think too hard about the greater implications of Hans's actions costing an innocent man his life. Surely, the Italian had been condemnable for other reasons.

"There's not really much they can do about it, frankly," Elsa said. "All of these monarchs are so ready to swear by the divine ordination of kings and queens; well, I'm using my divine right to make sure more people get represented."

"I know, but, I've been thinking. One of the best ways to really start making headway against Everdark would involve the leaders of other nations. If we could get a coalition of nations to recognize the threat that it poses, along with their commitment to fighting back against the Cult of Entropy, and all of that, then we might actually be able to start making headway. But to do something like that, we need legitimacy."

Elsa was quiet for a few moments, long enough that Odette was starting to think that she'd offended the queen. Eventually, though, she spoke again.

"I'd been thinking something much the same. And I've decided that it is not my responsibility to compromise on what I know to be right, to be accepted by these vain men and women. There will come a day when they have no option but to recognize the threats that Everdark poses to our world, and on that day, I will be ready to work with them. I don't think that anything I do will make the leaders of the world live that day earlier."

Odette nodded, her head bobbing as it rested against Elsa's shoulder. "I just hope that day doesn't come too late."


	11. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

 _Perhaps the most telling lessons that history can teach us arise from the striking similarities that bind present to past._

 _The Bard Rhennalus,_

 _from 'The Histories'_

* * *

New York City,

New York

June 30th, 1843

Hans hadn't expected it to be windy. As he stood on the narrow stone lip surrounding the top of the Fischer building, it was hard not to notice the wind and the height. The seven-story building was absurdly tall for the period, and even for the buildings of New York City; he stood far above them all, gazing down towards a squatter four-story structure with a giant glass dome dominating the roof. He was too high to make out much inside, other than the glittering candlelit chandeliers that twinkled inside the building.

The mayor of New York City, Robert Morris, was hosting a lavish party tonight in the Kingsford Hall, and everyone who was anyone in New York City would be there. Including, Hans had on good information, Senator Silas Wright. He adjusted his cravat slightly. He'd chosen an emerald vest today, and a double-breasted coat. They were, quite deliberately, conservative choices of clothing. The kind of attire that would be worn by a middle-aged, affluent-but-not-prominent man who was just important enough to be invited to something like this, but not important enough that partygoers would be surprised not to know him.

He'd specially padded his suit to give himself the appearance of weak, sloping shoulders and a bit of a paunch. To complete the ensemble, Hans had mixed peroxide with cigar ash (and peppermint, to cover the unpleasant smell), and rubbed it into his beard and sideburns like a tonic, giving his facial hair a faint, silvery-grey finish. All in all, the result was remarkable. He'd glanced into a mirror, and he'd been shocked at how much he looked like his father, with all this.

He'd read the newspapers, of course. His father and Leopoldo II of Tuscany were in private talks to settle the assassination quietly. Hans wasn't sure if he believed that a settlement would come, but it was all he could do at the moment.

Hans drew his grappling hook and began unraveling the rope. He glanced down at the four, worn, metal spikes welded to the head and smirked. When he'd had the thing commissioned from a confused blacksmith in Arendelle back in late January, the former prince hadn't anticipated how much he'd end up using it. He knelt and tied the end of the rope securely around the highest rung of a steel ladder welded to the side of the building to allow workers maintenance access to the rooftop.

He held the rope so that the head itself almost touched the stone lip beside him, and began to spin it to work up momentum. After a few moments, he threw the hook outwards into oblivion, letting go of the rope entirely and watching it unspool and launch into the air after the metal missile. It gracefully arced through the air and began to descend towards the Kingsford hall. Hans crossed his arms, hoping that he'd accounted well enough for the wind. It wouldn't do to have his grappling hook punching through that glass dome and terrifying everyone.

The wind tugged the hook eastward, towards the dome. Hans drew a handkerchief from his pocket and unfolded it, wrapping it twice around his palm and then reaching to the side. He grabbed onto the rapidly moving rope and hissed as the friction burned his hand, ripping the cloth to shreds. He twisted the rope clockwise a bit and let go again, looking down at his hand. The skin of his palm was abraded and pink. He tossed the ruined handkerchief off the side of the building, grateful he hadn't used his pocket square to protect his hand instead.

The rope pulled taut, and the ladder creaked. Hans narrowed his eyes as he watched the distant head of his grappling hook arcing towards the ground. It was rapidly approaching the top of the Kingsford Hall. If it didn't catch somewhere on the rooftop, he was going to have problems. It hit the stone rooftop in a burst of sparks, and then momentum started to drag it towards the edge of the building. The steel head skittered along, bouncing here and there as it approached the stone lip of the building. Hans drew a knife, ready to cut the rope if the hook didn't catch.

There was a distant grinding noise as the hook hit the lip of the wall, but it stopped moving. Hans waited a few moments for the rope to stop quivering, and then he tugged on it, first gently, and then harder. It held.

 _Now for the interesting part,_ Hans thought as he picked up the steel tube he'd set aside to zipline across with. The former prince had no experience with ziplining, but he hadn't had any experience with killing wizards until very recently, and he hadn't screwed up doing that yet. He eased himself over the edge of the building and balanced on the carved ornamentation on the side of the building, sliding the steel tube over the rope and taking a breath. He stepped into the air, and fell. The rope lurched, and he began to descend in a blitz towards Kingsford Hall.

The wind rushed in Hans's ears as he hurtled towards the building. When he came within twenty feet or so, Hans pulled himself upwards in a flip. He let go of the metal bar and twisted around the rope, turning in a barrel roll and landing with legs spread and one palm flat against the roof of the building. The former prince stood, and he heard the hollow ring of his steel bar striking the ground far below. He drew a knife and returned to the side, sawing through the rope and letting it fall away. He picked up his grappling hook's metal head and looked around for somewhere to stow it.

The rooftop was mostly flat, save a raised lip of stone around the edges, and the large glass dome in the center. Eventually, he just set the grappling hook down in roughly the same place, and stepped onto the raised edge of the wall. Hans looked down to the street to see if there were any signs of his detection. Between the Fischer building and the Kingsford Hall was only an alleyway, and one without immediate street access, at that. There didn't seem to be anyone milling about below, looking for the source of the falling metal bar.

He swung himself over the side of the building, and began scaling his way down the ornamentations towards a window.

xxx

Senator Silas Wright hissed as his blood dripped onto the onyx disk. Cold flooded the room, taking his breath away and constricting his chest like a vise. His pupils seemed to dilate, at first, but then the darkness broke free from his pupils and flooded his eyes entirely, turning them black. Everdark was here.

"I do not appreciate being summoned here." Wright had a false tooth made of ceramic, and he felt a painful twinge in it as Everdark's voice thrummed in the air. It felt like his tooth was going to burst. "I have business of an import that you could hardly imagine, my servant. It presses near, and I do not have time to waste. State your business."

Wright felt his mouth go dry. He was scared out of his mind. He crossed himself, and then bowed in a truly pathetic fashion, touching his forehead to the ground. "I have felt it, master. I have felt the presence that you told me I would."

Wright was reminded, once again, that to doubt Everdark was to err. As a telepath, Wright could sense the presence of nearby wizards. Magic enshrouded wizards like an aura, clear for him and a very select few others to see. Wright was used to the particular ways that different types of magic would express themselves to him. Some auras were light and airy, golden or sometimes light blue or pink. Others had gravity, and expressed themselves with an ochre or deep purple. Only around the Priests of Entropy had Wright seen black auras, auras indicative of tainted magic. The kind skimmed from the dead.

When that strange fellow with the limp had slaughtered some of Wright's petty gangsters a few weeks ago, he'd taken the issue to the Dark God itself. Everdark had told him that very soon, Wright would detect a wizard with the same black aura, coming to kill him. Wright had wondered, at the time, how Everdark could make such a claim after an unrelated event. Now he was reminded that Everdark's knowledge stretched beyond the realm of human possibility. It simply _knew_ things.

"Is he here? Tonight?" Everdark asked.

"Yes, master." Wright didn't want to admit that he was afraid. He'd heard the stories, from the cultists, that there was a man, in the service of Hades, who could kill wizards with ease. He'd been an instrumental part of the resistance that had slain both King Frederick and the man Namar Sadden. Wright wasn't sure, but he had a dreadful suspicion that the wizard with the black aura _was_ that man. He tentatively asked, "Should I flee, master?"

For a few seconds, the only sound was that of the nails and boards in the walls vibrating with Everdark's naked power. "No," it responded. "You will remain here. Your life will not be in danger tonight."

"H-how can you be so sure, master?"

"I need not be sure," Everdark replied. "I have provided you with several wizards who will see to your defense. Provided, however, that they are not enough, and you are slain, my plans are merely delayed. This game of cat-and-mouse that I must regrettably play with the mortals who stand against me ends inevitably in my favor. You see, my resources, unlike theirs, are _limitless._ "

"Master?"

"If you die tonight, then I will merely proceed with my operations in dozens of other countries. Some of these, too, will fail, but many will not. The inexorable tide of my victory is all but assured already."

There was a change in Everdark's voice that seemed to signal that the conversation was ending.

"If you survive the night, contact me again in the morning. I will have more orders then."

There was a rush of warmth and light as Everdark left the chamber. Wright shivered, and left his forehead pressed to the floor for nearly a minute more before he finally stood and composed himself. When he stepped back into the hallway and nodded to his servant, one could hardly see anything out of the ordinary in the man's expression, save, perhaps, that he was a bit pale. They turned and headed back to the ball.

xxx

Hans chuckled in an overdrawn manner as he pretended to listen to some New York banker's anecdote about looking for a proper breeder to purchase a fighting dog from. Though the practice of dogfighting was taboo throughout much of Europe by the mid-nineteenth century (and had been made illegal in England in 1835), it was still considered a respectable, even gentlemanly, pastime by most Americans. The humor of the banker's anecdote relied rather heavily on the double entendre laden in a term that could refer to both a female dog and an unsavory woman, leaving Hans to impatiently wonder what it was that people found so inimitably charming about high society.

He cast his gaze around the room, and, having studied several daguerreotypes depicting the junior New York Senator, tried to match one of the faces amidst the sea of unfamiliarity to Silas Wright. His eyes met those of a young and pretty woman, roving her own gaze around the chamber from nearby. Her eyes seemed to narrow for a moment, but Hans could have been mistaken, it passed so quickly. She smiled.

Hans nodded to her, and to his surprise, she immediately turned and started walking towards the far end of the ballroom, where the crowds of the rich thinned a bit and the little circular tables gave way to a larger rectangular one, laden with refreshments. Behind that, and down a hallway, there were smaller smoking-chambers and passageways that led further into the bowels of the building.

Was she inviting him to follow her? He wasn't sure why, but it felt like he was supposed to. He didn't need much of an excuse to break away from his current group of social climbers, anyhow.

He made some polite excuses and slipped away after her, following the bob of her shimmering red hair through the crowds of the building. Suddenly, his awareness heightened. Hans could hear his own heartbeat, feel his own footsteps falling in tandem with the swaying beat of the waltz that drove couples like cumbersome chariots across the ballroom floor. His movement, weaving through and around them as they danced, seemed radically juxtaposed. He could pick out the individual notes from each of the instruments in the somber string quartet fifty feet to his left. The viola was behind tempo, if just a bit.

The hair on the back of Hans's arms rose, and he immediately summoned Mallory's dying words to himself, repeating them in his head like a mantra: _You have a noble heart. You have a noble heart. You have a noble heart._ He wasn't sure what change had come over the himself and the room, but he didn't want to take any chances.

The girl stopped near the punch bowl, turned, and smiled briefly towards him. She turned again and walked into the hallways beyond, soon disappearing from view. Hans sped up as much as he could without drawing undue attention, emitting an endless stream of 'pardon's as he made his way around the mechanically swaying couples.

He stepped into the hallway, turning from a glance over his shoulder to come face-to-face with the beautiful young woman.

"Hello, friend." She said cryptically, crossing her arms and leaning back against the wall.

"Who are you?" Hans demanded. "Why do you feel reason to call me friend?"

"Excuse me," the young woman said. "I get ahead of myself, especially since this is the first time we've met. But I recognize a familiar soul when I see it, friend. What is your name?"

Hans fixed her with a suspicious gaze. He frowned for several moments. He wasn't sure exactly why, but he trusted her. "Hans Westergaard. And you?"

"Kariena Tae. And that disguise may be convincing the dullards in the room beyond us, but it's really quite bad."  
"What? How is it so bad?"

"Well, for one, you don't walk in a practiced way with that paunch. You have far too much energy in your stride to be an overweight, middle-aged man. Your eyes are far too keen, as well. Besides, I can tell from the way that you're holding your arms that you have pistols concealed in holsters underneath them, and not the small kind that a true noble might actually carry. They're big revolvers, the kind used by someone up to no good." Kariena Tae's eyes twinkled mischievously.

Hans felt an unfamiliar knot in his stomach, the kind that came from being exposed as a fraud. Kariena had seen through him like glass. He pushed down his discomfort and decided to push a hunch.

"You are not what you seem yourself, Miss Tae. I suspect, in fact, that you are also here under means of disguise, and that you are also not one of these elites."

"Perhaps," she replied, crossing her arms. "But if you think that I am here because of their wealth, you are mistaken, sir."

"I don't think that, no," Hans said. "You seem far too capable to be a thief."

"Thank you," Kariena smirked.

"On the other hand, you seem far too perceptive to be here for anything honest."

"As you, yourself, my friend," Kariena shot back. "Besides, I'm not the one with weapons on my person."

Hans raised an eyebrow.

"Well, at least not visible ones," she smirked again.

Before Hans could reply, a high-pitched scream pierced the air. Both heads whipped in the direction of the ballroom, and without a word, they both charged back into the chamber.

Everything was still. There was no movement in the chamber, save three men in the center of the dance floor, and a woman struggling against one of their numbers' garrote-like grip. The string quartet's cellist, enigmatically, remained unfrozen as well; he continued to play a lumbering, haunting strain that underscored the scene like a metronome. The men were Priests of Entropy, clad in the garb of their master, with black masks that covered their faces entirely.

The nameless enemy, back for more.

Without a word, Hans and Kariena began to fan out through the room, disappearing among the dense crowds of partygoers. The Priests scanned the crowd, watching with keen eyes for any sign of movement among the stillness.

 _The woman seems to have been selected at random,_ Hans thought as he wove his way in a crouch through a group frozen mid-conversation. _They showed up and grabbed someone to use as a hostage._

Hans didn't have time to wonder how he'd been detected. There were a dozen possible answers to that question, and he couldn't waste time berating himself. He'd be more careful. Besides, everything was going to be fine. No innocent deaths scheduled tonight.

Hans glanced to his left and caught Kariena Tae's gaze again; the girl had slipped from her dress for mobility's sake and padded along the floor with bare feet, dressed only in salmon-colored undergarments. The garments were utilitarian and mobile-looking, and she sported a pair of leather bands around her calves that had been relieved of the knives they held. She was ready for something like this.

Kariena nodded towards the far side of the room, and hurried her pace, rolling across an open space and fading away again into another crowd. Soon, he lost sight of her. Very well; if she was headed around behind them, Hans supposed that it was his job to make some sort of diversion. Something that wouldn't cause them to kill their hostage in the meantime.

The woman struggled and let out another gasping scream, and the burly man holding her tightened his grip around her neck and drilled the muzzle of his revolver into the small of her back. She whimpered, a look of pure fear in her eyes. One of the men wore a red band around the arm of his habit, so Hans took him to be the leader. He spoke.

"My dear, dear, Hans Westergaard. It's been far too long. I was just beginning to wonder if you'd lost your edge."

He could tell when Everdark was speaking to him through one of its servants, and now was one of those times. He recognized the unique combination of supplication and provocation that the Dark God used to needle at him. The only issue was, it worked.

Hans didn't reply. He'd come to a halt, standing in the middle of another circle of bedazzled men and women, standing still and peering between their frozen faces towards the priests. They were on edge. He could see the tension in their muscles, the way their gazes whipped around the room, nearly frantic.

So they knew how dangerous he could be.

"You have no reason to hide from me, Mr. Westergaard," Everdark continued, channeling its voice through the red band priest. "I find it quite insulting, actually. Don't you consider an old acquaintance such as I worthy of a proper greeting?"

Still Hans said nothing. Moving with a slow, plodding determination, he raised his arms to his coat and then reached past his collar, eventually closing his fingers around the holsters of his pistols. Then came the slow reverse, drawing the guns from their holsters centimeter by centimeter. The third priest, the one without the hostage or the red band, had begun to fan out amongst the crowd of partygoers, peering about and looking for movement. He was about forty feet to Hans's left, and approaching. It wouldn't be long before he was noticed.

Red band looked around, and then sighed. "I suppose not. _Respect,_ I am constantly reminded, is not your strong suit. Perhaps your friend is a bit more polite."

Red band fluidly drew a pistol from his own robes and leveled it towards a crowd on the other side of the room. Hans noticed, a moment later, Kariena Tae standing still with shock among them, frozen in the path of the trigger. Hans's eye twitched.

"It's actually quite fortuitous that your friend _was_ here, come to think of it," Everdark said. "I'm not confident that one hostage would have been enough to stop you. You've proven quite troublesome in the past, after all. _Two_ hostages, on the other hand, are another story entirely."

The third priest was making his way ever closer.

"If you do so much as move in a way I dislike, Hans, both of these young ladies will die. So I am about to begin giving you orders, and I expect to see them followed. Do you understand?"

Red band didn't wait for an answer. "Good. Step free from your shadows. Reveal yourself."

For a few seconds, Hans couldn't think. He couldn't rationalize, couldn't form a plan. Then, he stepped forwards, free from the partygoers.

Red band smiled. "Good, good. Isn't this so very easy?"

Hans didn't respond, one pistol leveled at red band's head, the other at the man holding the unfortunate hostage. Out of the corner of his eye, he tried to keep track of the third wizard, now lazily circling his way towards the former prince.

Hans wasn't thinking. Part of him screamed in protest, shouting at the top of its lungs, that _now_ was the time for action. But the rest of him realized that there was nothing he could do. He wasn't about to let Kariena and this woman die. He was trapped.

"Place your guns on the floor."

Hans made no move.

"Do it now," red band said simply. Everdark's voice did not rise, but the intent was clear.

Hans slowly started to lower himself into a crouch, keeping the pistols aimed even as he prepared to set them on the floor. He needed a miracle. And he wasn't going to get one. His pistols touched the ground, and he slowly let go.

As he started to rise from his crouch, Everdark continued. "Good. Now, it has come to my attention, as you can imagine, that you've picked up a few tricks during our last intermission. Much as I would love to order this man to shoot you right now, I don't think it would work out that way."

Hans still didn't answer, if only because it was the one thing he could retain control over.

"However, I could certainly kill either of these young women." The hostage gasped, and struggled violently for a moment, before falling limp against her bonds again. "So I will ask you once."

As he spoke, the last priest came up to Hans and drew a pair of steel manacles from within his robes. They thrummed with the same energy as the tensing blade that had taken Hans's soul; he could tell that if bound, he wouldn't be able to use his powers.

"Allow the good man to bind your hands, or I will start shooting."

He'd lost. It was unfortunate, but he'd lost. He started to raise his hands towards the priest's shackles. Then it happened.

Kariena shouted something. Hans never heard it; the words rolled over his ears like water. Then she _teleported._ Kariena appeared beside the priest with the hostage in a crouch and whirled one of her blades artfully, severing his Achilles tendon and then cartwheeling laterally, kicking the pistol out of his hand just as he reflexively fired. Kariena landed and threw her arms around the screaming woman, then teleported again.

Hans ducked forwards in a roll and sped up, grabbing his guns and coming up in a crouch, emptying his entire chamber towards red band. The priest raised his hands and the bullets slowed to a crawl in midair, warping to a halt even as Hans felt his own body stutter, almost as if he'd rolled through water instead of air.

He threw the pistols aside and drew his swords even as the third priest turned and threw a bolt of ice at Hans's heart. Startled, he almost didn't notice as his magical shield shattered the spike before it ever hit him. Hans rolled again and came up swinging, sending the cryomancer backwards in a defensive retreat.

Kariena was everywhere, holding off red band and the other wizard at once, teleporting between them and harrying them with little slashes and cuts meant to draw their attention more than anything else. When the former prince managed to get a glance over to the center of the room, he noticed that the last priest wasn't using any visible magic. Probably something like super-strength, then.

He redoubled his attack on the cryomancer, ducking and slashing at the man and relying on his shieldheart to protect him from the man's retorts. He ducked under the wizard's guard and rammed a blade into his side, drawing his other blade across the man's neck. Blood sprayed into the air in a graceful arc, and Hans tore his blades free and turned.

Kariena appeared amidst a burst of arcane energy above red band's shoulder, and placed a hand upon it. She twisted to the ground in a roll and threw red band to the floor, slowing to a crawl as red band's magic got control of her for a moment. Then she disappeared again, popping into existence just behind the last wizard, where she rammed both of her knives into his back. She leaped into the air in a twist and then disappeared again, appearing beside the man's head and finishing her twist to kick him in the jaw, snapping it and sending blood and teeth flying. She teleported again and landed beside Hans in a crouch, panting with exertion.

Hans watched her for a moment, unsure what to say.

"You kick ass," he said eventually. It felt right.

Kariena stood and pushed some red hair out of her face. "Thanks," she said, smiling wryly. "But now's not the time."

She turned back to glance at the cryomancer. The man was, indeed, very dead. As red band began to stand, she leaped into the air, raising a leg and turning. She appeared just behind the priest and snapped her leg down again, landing and stomping his head onto the marble floor. Immediately, everyone else in the room began to move, the wizard's spell ended. Time unspooled all around them, and Hans realized that they needed to leave. Right now.

He sped up, and he ran, returning his swords to their scabbards and scooping up his pistols, ending up by the doorway just a second after the screaming started. Kariena Tae appeared beside him a moment later, and they hazarded one last glance towards the ballroom filled with social climbers, all pointing and screaming as they stared at the blood and bodies in the center of the room.

Hans threw open the ballroom doors, and they ducked out into the night.


	12. Interlude - Hades

Author's Note:

This is actually the first of two interludes between Arc 4 and Arc 5. The next one was also uploaded today.

xxx

Interlude – Hades

 _Bonds of brotherhood are broken today._

 _Hades_

* * *

Hades's Temple

the Edge of Hell

June 30th, 1843

Hades stood in Everdark's chamber, awash with ancient evil. The walls were covered in the ornamentations of a twisted faith, relics from an ancient age in which the long shadow of death enshrouded the world. Hades felt a long, involuntary shiver run down his spine. He'd always hated this place. It reminded him that he was nothing but a placeholder, waiting for the day when the true Master of the Underworld returned. He tried to stay away from this chamber, most of the time.

Sometimes, however, it seemed like he was but a spectator to his own feet leading him here.

"You're not going to win," Hades said, trying to assume his typical air of nonchalance with the horrible statue that stood tall above him. His voice failed him and betrayed his weakness. Hades scowled and tore his gaze away from Everdark's form, focusing his gaze on a far corner.

"Master?" Lady Blackheart's voice sounded from the room's entrance. Hades turned and saw her standing just beyond the threshold, shrouded in robes of a midnight blue. "Intuition told me that I'd find you here."

"What makes you say that?" Hades said, turning and walking towards her, grateful for the excuse to leave this horrible place behind.

"You've had that fatalistic look in your eye all day."

They stepped into the torchlit hallway, and started to walk. Hades folded his arms behind his back and straightened his back a little. He was slouching more these days; sulking as he walked. It wasn't professional. It looked ungodly.

"Well, you'll have to excuse me, Marina. Fearing for my life has a way of bringing out my mopey attitudes," he said sarcastically.

"Don't take that tone with me," Lady Blackheart said, her heels clicking with each step. "I'm doing everything I can to try and avert this disaster. You, on the other hand, are not."

Hades stopped walking.

"What do you mean, I'm not doing everything I can? I can't _leave_ this place, Marina. What, do you think conjuring," Hades gesticulated wildly, "I don't know, _ghostly_ images of myself in front of the Cult of Entropy is going to stop them? Do you think sitting down for a chat with one of Everdark's servants is going to suddenly open their eyes to peaceful negotiations?"

" _No,_ " Lady Blackheart said pointedly, cutting into Hades's rant. "But I do find it absurd that you haven't spoken to the other immortals _once_ since this entire debacle began. We need their help, Hades. We can't do this ourselves."

Hades turned suddenly and pounded a fist against the wall, the flames atop his head erupting in a fiery jet for a moment. "The other immortals? You think that the other immortals give a damn about me?"

"No, Hades, I don't think they give a fuck about you," Lady Blackheart said, her own voice rising to meet the deity's. "But I do believe that they will help you. Do you know why?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll oblige me," Hades snapped, sweeping past her and walking down the hallway at speed.

"Because they care about themselves, Hades," Lady Blackheart said, hurrying her pace to keep up. "Do you think Everdark is going to kill you, take your place, and then look at all of the other immortals and say, 'gee, I guess you guys are all fine?'"

"Of course not, Marina, because I'm not a goddamn fool!" Hades whipped around and jabbed a bony finger at her. "But do you honestly think we can say the same about the others?"

Before she could respond, he continued. "They're idiots! They don't know what matters! They haven't paid half a mind to Earth in the better part of a thousand years! I'd be surprised if they even knew what was going on!"

"I think that you just don't want to beg your brother for help!" Lady Blackheart yelled over him. As soon as she said the words, she wondered if she'd gone too far. Hades's eyes widened, and he fell silent for a moment. Then he turned abruptly and continued walking away, quickening his pace even more.

Lady Blackheart watched him for a moment, unsure. Then she started after him, practically jogging to catch up. "Hades! Hades, look," she said, coming up alongside him. "Look, I shouldn't have said it, that way, I didn't –"

Hades whirled on her and spoke, his voice surprisingly quiet, though not calm. "No, Marina. You were right the first time. 'Beg' was the right word. Because that's what it would be. Begging."

"But it doesn't have to –"

"Marina. I told him that I hated him. I said that I never wanted to speak to him again. I said that I would have been happy, if he had never existed. These are not the kind of things one can merely _take back._ "

Lady Blackheart and Hades looked into each other's eyes for several moments. She saw his defeat. His exhaustion, his willingness to give up. She wasn't sure if it was Everdark he was thinking about at the moment.

"I never had any siblings," Lady Blackheart said quietly.

They stood now on a landing in the stairwell that led back up into the main floors of Hades's temple. There were both cast in flickering torchlight from above, their faces enshrouded by half in shadow.

"So I don't know what it can be like. I know that he humiliated you. I know that your brother is the reason you're imprisoned in the Underworld in the first place. And I know that you have plenty of other reasons to hate him besides. But listen to me very carefully. Hans is risking his life for you every day. When you tell him to jump, he asks 'how high?' He'd be willing to do _anything_ to try and defeat Everdark. If you're trying to tell me that you're willing to let Everdark win because you were too _prideful_ to ask your brother for help, then I'd like to offer you my resignation."

Hades stared at her for several long moments. His eyes glistened slightly, and he blinked.

"He would make me _beg,_ Marina. I'd be proving him right."

Lady Blackheart's face softened a bit. She placed a hand on Hades's shoulder. "If that's the worst thing that you'll have to do before this is all over, I think that you'll be able to count yourself lucky, Hades. But desperate times to do not afford us the pleasure of selecting our allies. We need to take all the help we can get."

Hades slowly nodded, then once more with more conviction. "You're right. I won't allow my pride to doom us all. I'll call for the immortals to assemble at once."

Lady Blackheart nodded. "Thank you."

The two continued up the staircase in silence for a few moments before Lady Blackheart spoke again at the landing.

"And… I'm sorry. I said some harsh things to you, and not all of them were called for."

"Don't worry about it," Hades said, flicking a hand and shaking his head. "I needed it. All of it."

Lady Blackheart nodded. "So… you're good?"

"Yes, I'm good," Hades said. "I'll go contact the rest of the immortals."

He turned one last time and continued down the hallway, his shoulders slumping again as he did.


	13. Interlude - Hans

Author's Note:

The next TLD short story will arrive next Monday! _Love Letter,_ a three-chapter foray into the romance genre, will dive a bit deeper into the beginning of Elsa and Odette's relationship (this is something that got sort of passed over in the first book, and I'm excited to illustrate it in greater detail). Arc Five of the Trials of Light and Darkness Trilogy will return on December 4th, so keep an eye on the Words of the Protector feed!

Interlude – Hans

 _You are stronger than your allies. You are stronger than they deserve. Do what it takes to reclaim your destiny._

 _Unwelcome thoughts_

* * *

New York City,

New York

June 30th, 1843

Once they were a few streets from Kingsford Hall, in the middle of a dark alleyway beside an old deli, Hans and Kariena Tae came to a puffing halt. Hans paced in a slow circle, rolling a shoulder that had stretched awkwardly during the fighting. The young witch leaned back against the brick wall and raised up one of her feet, wincing as she picked gravel out of the unshod sole. Hans felt a sudden stab of guilt. He'd been running fast; he hadn't spared a second thought for the fact that the girl had left her shoes inside.

"Here," Hans said, and nodded towards the street. "Come over where I can get some light from the streetlamps and I'll do that for you."

Kariena nodded gratefully and stepped gingerly over, sitting down on top of an old wooden crate and extending one of her feet as Hans knelt beside her. After a quick examination of both of her feet, he decided that he wouldn't need to dig anything out with a knife, which was a relief. He didn't have anything to act as an astringent, however. He'd need to figure out something to do about that. As he worked, he tried to think of how to phrase his question, but luckily Kariena asked him first.

"Who are you, really, Hans?"

"I was about to ask you the same question, Kariena."

"Well, considering I just ran five blocks with no shoes on, including a patch of some pretty rough gravel, and considering that I'm a lady dressed down to her knickers in front of you, and considering that I asked first, I think that you should be the first to answer that question."

Hans grunted. "Fair enough." He wondered how much was appropriate to tell her. How much she would believe, and how much would earn her trust. He didn't need any more enemies, at the moment. "But my answer still begins with a question. How much do you know about the wizards we dispatched back at Kingsford Hall?"

"Personally? Not much."

"No, not exactly," Hans said, moving to the other foot. They looked surprisingly delicate, now, skinned raw and flecked with bits of gravel. It was far removed from the hyper-efficient duelist that had fought two wizards at once in that ballroom. "I meant about the organization itself. The order."

"I know that they're under the senator's thumb," Kariena responded. "Senator Wright is a wicked man, and he's using those wizards for wicked ends."

Hans wondered if Kariena had previous experience with the man. It sure sounded like she did. He didn't press the matter, at the moment.

"Well, I can tell you that – sorry, this one might hurt – " Kariena hissed as he worked out a large piece, then dabbed at the blood that got un-stoppered. "– that they aren't in the service of Silas Wright, as much as the wizards and the senator serve a mutual master."

"Really? That sounds like a powerful man."

"It isn't a man," Hans said as he removed his coat and then used his knife to cut free one of the sleeves from his shirt. He re-shouldered his coat and slit the sleeve down one side, forming a rectangle of fabric. He cut this in half and began to bandage Kariena's feet as best he could. "It is a god they serve."

"Excuse me?"

"A god," Hans repeated. "It's a long story, one that I can tell at length later. For now, the answer to your first question."

"Fair enough," Kariena said, though Hans could here an element of dubiousness in her voice.

"I serve a very powerful master as well. We are doing our best to stop this god and his followers, including Senator Wright. As a matter of fact, I've been traveling the world for the better part of a year now, fighting against dark magic where I'm needed. Right now, that place is here."

"Describe your power to me," Kariena said, palpating one of her feet and wincing as Hans stepped away from her, his work done.

For some reason, Hans felt a strange reluctance to do so. Some small part of him felt that he should lie, or at least partially lie. There wasn't any particular reason she need know about _both_ of his abilities, right? Then he frowned. Why was he thinking that? If Kariena had wanted to try to kill him, she'd have done it when she was running behind him during their escape. It would have been easy to get him with a knife there, when his defenses were down.

"I have two, actually."

"What do you mean?"

Hans was reminded that few magic users had much of a true understanding of what they were doing. He'd had education from Lady Blackheart on dozens of forms of the arcane arts, and he was familiar with all of the broad classifications of magic, as well as many of the more characteristic abilities. Hell, he'd even learned the names of most of common abilities a wizard could have. Telepathy. Elementalism. Psionic powers. Temporal magic, like his shieldheart ability, or Chronokinesis, like his sprinter powers. The list went on.

"Well, I can do two different things, and they're pretty different," Hans said, thinking about how to best explain them. "For one, I can make myself faster, for short periods of time. I think that it's actually quite a bit more complicated than that; I think it involves changing the way that time affects me, but I'm no scholar."

"Yes, I saw something like that when we were in that ballroom. Is that why one of the wizards said that you'd be impossible to shoot? Because I think that if someone was able to anticipate the way you were going to move, they might still be able to hit you."

"You're probably right," Hans said. "No, the man was making reference to my other ability. It's probably best to demonstrate this one." He looked around the place where the wall met the street in the alleyway for a few moments, and then scooped up a broken piece of a paving stone and handed it to Kariena. "Throw this at me."

Without hesitation, so soon after he finished talking that he didn't even have time to back up, Kariena threw the rock at him. It hit his chest with a thud and fell to the ground.

"Well, I suppose that did a good job of demonstrating my power's limitations," Hans said, rubbing at his chest. She had a good arm. He scooped up the rock and returned it to her, adding, "wait a bit longer, this time, before you throw it at me."

He backed up until his back touched the far side of the alley, and then he nodded. Kariena lobbed the stone at him again, and despite her careful aim, it clattered uselessly against the wall a foot to his left. Surprised, she found another rock on the ground and tried again. This time it came closer, but still missed.

"What are you doing to them?" She asked curiously, reaching out and prodding the air in front of herself with a finger, wondering if there was some force that she'd be able to touch.

"It's not so much what I'm doing to the stones. Near as I understand it, I'm manipulating the air around me, and it sort of refracts things coming towards me. It works with most spells, too."

"That would explain why it only works when you're far enough away from something," Kariena nodded. "If you were too close, the angle you deflect something at wouldn't be sharp enough to keep it from hitting you."

"Right."

Hans scratched at his beard as he leaned against the far wall, looking at this woman in her underwear sitting on a crate before him. He suddenly wondered if she was cold.

"Here," he said, removing his jacket once again and passing it to her. "I'm sorry, I've been forgetting myself tonight."

Kariena gratefully accepted the jacket and drew it around herself. "I suppose you'd like my answers, now."

"I do believe that was the understanding," Hans said.

"Very well," Kariena sighed. " As you saw during the fighting back there, I can teleport."

"How often, and how far? Does it take energy?"

Kariena laughed lightly. "Whoa, there. Let's slow down a bit. Um, first of all, I've never been able to teleport more than thirty feet or so. Then again, I've never done anything stupid like jump off of a building and try to teleport across the street, because I don't have a death wish. And yes, it takes quite a bit of energy, so I can only do it about ten times between each meal. With adrenaline going in a fight, I might be able to make it a few more times."

Hans nodded, digesting this. It certainly seemed like the single most useful power he'd seen a wizard possess. That, or telepathy, he supposed.

"As for what I am, well, I'm just a thief."

Hans frowned. "Back at that party, you told me you weren't a thief."

"I never said anything of the sort," she countered. "As a matter of fact, you said 'you seem far too capable to be a thief,' and I said, 'thank you.' You assumed that I was not a thief, and I merely wasn't in a particular hurry to correct that assumption."

"But you said you weren't after their money," Hans persisted.

"A _burglar_ trades only in stolen goods, Hans. A _thief_ might traffic in other stolen things entirely."

"Like what?" Hans asked suspiciously.

"The only stolen things that rich men are still interested in buying," Kariena said and leaned in, eyes twinkling conspiratorially. "Secrets," she whispered.

"You steal… secrets?" Hans repeated.

"It's amazing how many important things big, powerful men will tell a dewy-eyed girl with a pretty face." Kariena crossed one leg over the other and clasped her hands around her knee, batting her eyelashes.

"I see." Hans glanced around. "Look. I normally wouldn't ask something like this of someone I've just met, mostly because I wouldn't trust them to not get me killed. But you seem like you're familiar with the New York underground."

"You need a place to disappear after this."

"Yes, I don't imagine that it would be safe to return to the inn I've been staying at," Hans nodded. "I'm hoping that you might be able to help me fade away."

"Well," Kariena said, gingerly stepping to her feet with one hand against the wall behind her, and then putting more weight on them until she was standing normally, "Unfortunately, I can't just divulge the location of a hideout to you and then let you go off on your merry way, because for all I know, you're headed right to the nearest constabulary office with that information."

"Oh, come on –" Hans began, but Kariena raised a hand to shush him.

"I know that's not what you're actually going to do. At least, I'm reasonably sure. But I've sworn a code to my fellow thieves not to reveal the locations of any hideouts to an outsider."

Hans snorted. "A bunch of thieves have a code?"

"Hey," Kariena said, pointing a finger at him. "Let me finish. And yes, we do, Hans. I resent the notion that just because we're thieves, we're morally bankrupt."

"Alright, fine," Hans said, raising his hands. He let them drop again and turned to look out of the mouth of the alleyway. Despite the eerily even glow lighting the streets, they were empty. He could hear the sound of barflies singing nearby, however. The former prince turned back to Kariena. "Continue."

"As I was _saying,_ " she continued, "I can't reveal the location of a hideout to you without some way of knowing that you won't go spouting off about it. Which is why I'm going to take you with me to one."

Hans's immediate reaction was to refuse. He worked better alone, and even if Kariena was talented, he wasn't keen about the idea of a bunch of common criminals hanging about while he tried to formulate a plan for dealing with Wright. Somewhere in the back of his head, Mr. Gold was criticizing him for botching this whole affair already. Every single cultist in the city was going to be looking for him by midmorning tomorrow, and there were only so many places to hide. He was so sure that he'd be able to get a clean assassination.

As a matter of fact, he wasn't even sure how the cultists had been tipped off of his presence. He'd been practicing all of his normal defenses against a telepath, but he wasn't sure if that would stop one from sensing his aura. He wished Lady Blackheart were here to help parse this. He had a feeling that she'd know the answer.

"Hans?" Kariena waved a hand in front of his face.

Hans snapped back to the present. "Yes?"

"Is that good?" Kariena put her hands on her hips. "You sort of faded into a brooding silence there, fella."

"Yes," Hans decided. It was about time he grew more comfortable sharing his fight. Because it wasn't really his fight; Everdark was trying to bring the entire world to its knees. This battle was one they all had a stake in. "That will do fine, thank you. And besides, I wasn't brooding."

"Well, call it what you want, but I call staring into the distance with a wistful look in the eyes 'brooding.'" Kariena smirked. She then peered out of the alleyway, and turned back to Hans. "Alright. You're going to follow me, and ask no questions. Try to forget the path we took, too. Matter of fact, it would be best if you were blindfolded, but I'm not about to lead a blind man through this city at night. So just try not to pay attention."

Hans tried not to roll his eyes. "Alright, fair enough."

"Oh. And one last thing."

"What would that be?" Hans asked.

"You have to swear your loyalty to the thieves' code if you want to stay in one of our hideouts."

Hans frowned. "Okay."

"Okay." Kariena said.

"Wait. You're not going to tell me what it is?" Hans's frown deepened.

"Oh." Kariena tapped at her chin for a moment. "Well, I mean, mostly it's about not stealing from each other (Hans snorted at that, but Kariena pretended not to hear), and coming to each other first if we need help on a job, and not squealing. Especially not squealing."

"Do you have the code written down anywhere?" Hans said, already suspecting the answer.

"Well, we sort of just make it up as we go," Kariena replied. "We add things when we feel like they need adding."

She extended a hand to shake. Hans looked down at it.

"Are you sure that we aren't supposed to spit on our hands first, or something?"

Kariena fixed him with a glare.

"Alright, alright, I swear," Hans said, taking her hand in a firm clasp and shaking. "I will honor, to the best of my ability, the creed of you and your fellow thieves."

Kariena nodded, and without another word, she turned and started up a jog. Hans looked down at his hand for a moment before following after her.


	14. Chapter Eleven

Arc Five

Soul of Brimstone

Chapter Eleven

 _The moon fell in love with the sun from the fleeting glances of her warmth that he caught just beyond the horizon._

* * *

Mitris Undala,

Celestus

c. 3651 BC

The royal palace Mitris Undala split the sky and touched the face of the heavens. It rose so high that frost would form around the upper windows during the summertime, so high that one could make out the curvature of the earth from its highest balcony. For one hundred feet around the palace, the air was pure and still. The thrumming power of magic that had engineered such a structure kept the swirling grit of the constant sandstorms at bay. One's view from the top of Mitris Undala today would be little more than a sea of relentless, pounding grit.

Ashanerat called Lightbringer to herself, and the blade coalesced in her hand. She flicked her wrist, and let it go. After a few seconds, she called it again. Her face was an indiscernible mask as she stared out towards the sandstorm.

Elsa wondered what could be going on inside her mind. The Queen of Arendelle was once again a spectator to the past, standing unbidden and unseen a few feet behind the Protector, paying silent study to this ancient hero. Elsa wasn't any closer to learning the Words, and this was her tenth visit to the past. During that time, she'd seen the ancient world crumble to ash under Everdark's wrath. She turned to peer outwards herself, and felt her pulse quicken as she saw the blackened sand raging through the air. What torments would soon arrive for her world?

"Circu has arrived, Ashanerat," Rhennalus said quietly. The sound of soft footsteps indicated that the last wizard had indeed shown up. It was good that they were presenting a unified front, Elsa thought. She knew how this tale would end, yet still she hoped against hope that they would be able to convince Dominus of his folly.

Emperor Dominus of Celestus was the one figure from this ancient history that Elsa had been acquainted with before these visions. When the monk Wulfric Shaw had told her the tale of Everdark's first rise to power, he'd said that humanity's original sin had been Dominus's arrogance. The powerful wizard had proclaimed himself a god, and that had earned the ire of a being who actually was one. Everdark waged war against Dominus, a war that Elsa was in the process of following footsteps through. Humanity was losing.

In a previous vision, Elsa had learned that Ashanerat and the rest of the Consulate of wizards were going to entreat Dominus to admit defeat, and beg Everdark for forgiveness. Elsa already knew that Dominus would be too proud to accept.

"Good," Ashanerat replied, turning to face the others. They stood in a room shaped like a quarter-ring. Four of these room encircled Dominus's throne chamber, on the highest floor in Mitris Undala. As one, the wizards turned and approached the magnificent double-doors that would let them into the emperor's room.

Elsa followed with bated breath, waiting behind the five wizards and noting the tension in their strained faces as they waited for servants to respond to their pounding knock. Ashanerat was just about to raise the metal ring again when a pair of servants clad in white let open the doors, and ushered the Consulate inside. Elsa followed them in.

The Queen of Arendelle's breath caught when she saw Dominus. He stood before his throne, waiting for the wizards as they entered. He wore a simple white robe with golden trim at the edges, much the same as the Consulate. He was tall, very tall, and had a broad chest and shoulders. Around his ears he wore a crown of brambles, woven just so that they wouldn't scratch his head.

All around the emperor, light _bent._ A panoply of all the colors of the rainbow shimmered in the air around Dominus, reflecting on his white robe and painting the space around him thick with magic. Elsa had never seen anything like it. She _felt_ his power, a deep thrum vibrating in her chest and making her throat feel tight.

 _How mighty this man must be, that across the space of five thousand years I can feel his presence._ It terrified her to think that Dominus was unable to defeat Everdark.

"Counselors. What a pleasant surprise," Dominus spoke, his voice powerful and confident. "The last time that the entire Consulate assembled before me, Ashanerat hadn't even been born yet."

Elsa saw a flicker of something across Ashanerat's gaze. She didn't like that; it delegitimized her.

"We cannot maintain this fight any longer, Dominus," the Bard Rhennalus said with equal conviction. "Your arrogance has brought our people to the brink of destruction."

Dominus fixed a solemn gaze on the venerable wizard. "I am not the one who chokes the air with sand. I am not the one who sends hordes of the dead to storm our walls. I am not the one who drives our people to insanity. I do not bring out people to destruction, Rhennalus. Watch your tongue."

"Rhennalus speaks true, emperor," Sakina took a step forwards. "You must appease the God of Darkness by reneging your claims of godhood. You are not its equal."

"I never claimed to be Everdark's equal," Dominus said, slowly clasping his hands together before himself. "I am stronger than it. Stronger than any of the impotent gods of old. Everdark makes a show of force by killing a handful of our people, because it knows that it is too weak to challenge me directly."

"We have not lost a handful, Dominus," Ashanerat said. "The last count was higher than six hundred. That is a great many handfuls."

Dominus's face was unreadable. Elsa had heard Dominus described as proud, yet also as a just ruler. Surely, he could not continue to sit by and let his people be slaughtered?

"If you call yourself more powerful than Everdark," Circu said in a quiet voice, "than perhaps that assertion should be put to the test."

Elsa got the impression, by the looks of resolve across the faces of the wizards, that they had been planning to turn the conversation in this direction. They wanted Dominus to challenge Everdark directly. If Dominus actually was able to defeat the god, then the entire horrid affair would be over. If Dominus was slain, perhaps Everdark would abandon its assault on Celestus. After all, this had only began after Dominus had insulted the God of Darkness.

Dominus met the gaze of each of his Consulate in turn. "So be it," he said.

In that instant there was a deafening thunderclap, and the rainbows of light that enswathed the emperor lashed outwards in every direction, forming a hemisphere-shaped zone of light around him. It burst outwards in every direction, throwing the counselors up against the far walls and pinning them in place. Elsa inadvertently backed up until she touched the wall, gasping again.

"I summon thee, God of Darkness, bringer of desolations! I call you know to stand and fight me, and prove one of us the better!" Dominus roared, and his robes and hair billowed with arcane force. Energy crackled between his fingertips, and his eyes glowed pure white, leaking trails of magic to the sides.

In response, a sudden chill spread through the chamber. Elsa saw the members of the Consulate grasp at their throats with shock as air seemed to flee the room. A singularity appeared ten feet away from Dominus, in the center of the chamber, a point black as night and small as a thimble, yet great in power all the same. There was a deep rumbling, less a sound and more a force to shake the building's very walls, as the singularity began to spill inky darkness into the room.

It was darker than anything Elsa had ever seen; light seemed to collapse in on itself as the fugue spread across the chamber. She felt a sickening dread as a form began to coalesce in the black mists, slowly spreading a pair of leathery wings throughout the chamber.

Everdark's head slowly rose, its hands formed into fists around the long scythe it held. It stood on four powerful legs, its aberrant form at once terrible and eerily beautiful. A pair of deep red eyes, formless, without iris or pupil, ignited on its face.

"You are arrogant, mortal," Everdark said. It was the same voice, that same insidious voice that had been inside her mind all those months ago in Corona. It was horrible. The Queen of Arendelle tried to look away, but found her gaze horribly transfixed.

"You are arrogant to think that you can command me." Everdark took a step towards Dominus. "You are arrogant to believe that you can defeat me. And your Consulate is arrogant for believing that I will consider your life payment enough."

Dominus twisted his stance and gathered magic to his hands, screaming with rage and shooting a beam of light at Everdark. The dark god removed one hand from its scythe and held it outwards, palm up, as it continued to approach the emperor. Dominus's attack was stayed by some invisible barrier, coursing around Everdark's body in fiery streaks.

"I am going to kill you, and I will enjoy it," Everdark said, letting down the barrier and clenching a fist. Dominus's face contorted as he struggled to fight some mental war against the god, a low groan escalating to a frenzied scream as Everdark gained purchase. Dominus's body was slowly pushed into a backwards lean and his eyes rolled back into his head as the deep rumble in the room grew so loud it hurt. So loud that Dominus's screams were read on his face rather than heard by the ear.

"But that will not be enough for me," Everdark continued, the god's voice simply _there,_ slipping unbidden into minds even over the horrible noise. "I am going to bring this world to its knees. I will make humanity pay for its arrogance."

Dominus was slowly lifted off the ground, still contorted into a bizarre position as he floated first one, then two feet off of the floor. He wasn't even struggling anymore. He'd completely lost control.

Elsa looked around, scared. The wizards of the Consulate were frozen, but not by fear. Their eyes were unblinking, their bodies giving by not so much as a twitch. They were nothing more than spectators to this execution.

Dominus was thrown to the floor with such force that his body bounced before crumpling to a heap before Everdark. The dark god clenched its fist and he rose again, as if by puppet strings, to his knees, forced to kneel before Everdark. Elsa saw Dominus's eyes. They were blind with fear.

"I would make you beg for your life, just to snuff it out anyway, if I did not tire of hearing your pathetic voice. As it stands, I'll settle for just killing you now."

Everdark cast its scythe aside, where it dissipated into the fugue. The dark god gripped Dominus around the neck with one hand and placed the other on top of his head, twisting violently with such force that Dominus's head tore off. A dark smear of blood sprayed across the far wall, and continued to pour from both severed portions of the emperor. Everdark stepped away and allowed the headless corpse to collapse to the ground. Dominus's light extinguished, the room was even darker, and cold.

Everdark dropped Dominus's head and turned to face the rest of the Consulate. "I have higher respect for you each than I had for your emperor. So I will not kill you outright. But my assault will not end. I will allow you the right to die fighting, but I will not allow you the right to survive. May you spend your last days more honorably than your emperor."

Everdark drew its wings inwards, and the darkness began to recall to it, slowly encircling the creature and then, after a few moments, it was gone, and the light slowly began to return to the chamber.

xxx

Elsa awoke feeling queasy. She had chills, and a permeating fear that made her senseless for at least a minute. At length, she remembered where she was, and took a few ragged breaths to meter out her heart rate. She put her head in her hands, and rubbed her face.

 _My God._

"Elsa?" The queen felt Odette's form close behind; the girl shifted in the bed and pressed up against her, placing her chin on Elsa's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Elsa slowly reached up and ran her fingers along the chain of her ancestral amulet. She'd worn it to sleep each night since that day she'd accidentally slipped into her first vision, and since then it had become a familiar weight. Her fingers made their way to the talisman itself. It was icy cold.

"I had another vision," Elsa said softly. "Everdark killed the Emperor of Celestus."

Odette slid her other arm around Elsa's waist to meet her first. "It was horrible," she guessed.

Elsa didn't respond. She didn't have to.

"Maybe it isn't helping to keep reliving these visions," Odette said softly. "All they're causing you is pain. I can see the haunted look in your eyes, you know. And you're not any closer to learning these words that will supposedly help you save humanity."

Elsa was about to murmur some words of agreement, before something came to her, unbidden and unexpected.

 _I do not falter under watch of darkness._

Elsa felt numb. She stood up in a rush, dashing over to the oaken dresser on the other side of the room. She came to a wobbly halt in front of Lightbringer's scabbard, and drew it off of its stand. Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand against the first of the four lines.

Nothing happened.

"Elsa?" Odette stood up, frowning. She hurried over to stand beside her.

"I do not falter under watch of darkness," Elsa said softly.

There was a few more moments of silence. Nothing happened.

Elsa sighed and returned the scabbard to its stand.

"Was that… do you think…" Odette began.

"Yes," Elsa said. "What you just said, about me stopping, with these visions – the words just came to me. I will not turn away from these visions, no matter how unpleasant. The Protector does not falter under watch of darkness."

"But… nothing happened," Odette said.

"No," Elsa replied, walking over to the grandfather clock against the wall and checking the time. _Five-forty._ Well, she'd need to be up soon anyway. "I think that I'll need to know them all before something happens."

Odette nodded. Elsa knew that she was skeptical about the whole thing. Hell, _Elsa_ was pretty skeptical about the whole thing. But somehow, she knew. She knew that she'd learned the first line of the inscription.

She went over to the window and let them open. It was already warm and getting brighter by the minute outside; it was going to be a hot day.

"I'm going to head down to the counting hall," Elsa told Odette. "You want to come?"

Odette nodded, and opened the closet. She fished around for a moment, eventually settling on a little light pink dress. Elsa didn't remember exactly when Odette had moved into the same room; it was the second or third week now. Things were kept quiet and discreet enough around here that they weren't particularly worried about being discovered by unwelcome persons. It was nice having her here.

Elsa dressed, as well, and they went down. Today was July first, and it was time to see the results of Arendelle's election.

The 'counting hall' was Arendelle's public library, a venerable building at the intersection of Ninth and Temple in downtown Arendelle. They got there by the commuter train, a fancy new amenity that Elsa was still getting used to. They'd done the vote counting out of house for two reasons: one, the public library was far closer to the center of the city than Namar Sadden's manor, so it made logistic sense; and two, that they were interested in making sure that the results were not assumed to have been tampered with by the crown.

There was a crowd of journalists outside despite the early hour, and when Elsa, Odette, and their bubble of guards approached the building, they were swarmed. Elsa had nothing to comment yet, obviously, so she just smiled and waved as the soldiers cleared a path for them to enter the building. Elsa smiled as she heard Odette sigh as they entered the library; the girl was likely relieved to be out of the press and into a building filled with all sorts of books.

Bookshelves had been moved, and great tables had been arranged in deep rows in the center of the main chamber for the vote counting. There were one hundred or so people seated around these tables, arranged in thirty-two pods of three or so, one pod for each of the districts that had to be accounted for.

There was no counting being done anymore, however; they had been done for a half-hour at least. The results were in. Elsa and Odette followed a path around the counting tables, weaving their way past the circulation desk and some awkwardly placed bookshelves, hurriedly moved to the sides of the chamber. Odette ran her eyes along the shelves as she passed them, scanning the names for anything unfamiliar.

They reached a little room at the back of the library, which on an ordinary day would serve as the private office of the head librarian. Today, Professor Michael Beckstrom sat behind the desk, tapping a sheaf of papers on the desk and tucking them into a yellow folder as they entered the chamber.

Beckstrom was the professor of combinatorics at Lannister University and the chair of the mathematics college; he was an accomplished, little old man of seventy-two who was known for wearing very thick spectacles that made him look somewhat like an owl.

"Your majesty," he said, standing (which did not afford him much height) and bowing as the pair of young women entered the chamber. "Good morning."

"Good morning to you as well, Dr. Beckstrom," Elsa said. "I certainly hope that I have reason to continue believing that it is a good morning after I see these results."

Elsa clasped hands with the professor, and then she and Odette took seats before the desk. Elsa smoothly crossed one leg over the other and clasped her hands about her knee.

"Well, your majesty, I should first mention to you one small caveat."

"You can't be one hundred percent certain of these results, because you're employing statistical wizardry, but on the whole, you're quite certain that these are indeed the winners of their individual precincts?" Elsa guessed.

"Yes," Beckstrom said. "We've performed fairly extensive hypothesis testing on the individual counts, and the short and long of it is that we can conclude with ninety-nine percent certainty that the candidate we have declared the winner of each precinct in fact does have a substantial margin of victory."

He passed the folder across the table, and Elsa carefully took it. The crown had endorsed a candidate for each of the thirty-two races, one for each precinct of the city. It was time, then, to see how she'd fared in what certainly felt like a referendum on her rule.

She took a deep breath.

"You will be announcing the winners immediately, then, your majesty?" Beckstrom asked, no doubt asking about the sea of journalists waiting beyond the library doors. As they spoke, a wooden podium was being installed at the top of the steps to let her speak.

"Yes," Elsa said. She slowly opened the folder and withdrew the top sheet. There were two columns, listing the precinct number along the left, and then beside it on the right, a candidate's name.

She scanned the list once, quickly, and then once again, more slowly. Then she let out a long stream of breath. Fifteen. One less than half of the candidates she'd endorsed had won their races. Rationally, she knew that was quite a feat; most of the individual races had been contested by three or more candidates, but still, it didn't feel great.

"Fifteen, Odette," Elsa said, sinking into her seat.

Odette pushed up her glasses. "You know, rationally, that's quite a –"

"I know," Elsa said. "I know." She rubbed her jaw for a moment, and then she stood up. "Well, Beckstrom, thank you again for your service to the crown. I look forward to working together again at some point in the future."

"Of course, your majesty." Beckstrom bowed them out of the room, smiling and waving to them as they departed.

Elsa smoothed her dress as they walked and straightened her shoulders, flicking her wrist to conjure a tiara of ice atop her head. She turned towards Odette.

"How is my hair?"

"Ravishing," Odette said with a crooked grin.

"Really."

"Really," Odette insisted.

"You know," Elsa said as they wound their way back through the library, "This was really our chance to make things different. But now we've got to write a constitution, and seventeen of these guys are going to be just like the nobles that made me get rid of the last court."

"Well, fifteen on our side is still a good number," Odette said, "and perhaps some of the seventeen you didn't endorse will end up allies anyway. You've always been a believer in the power of rhetorical persuasion."

"Yes, well, I just wish I didn't have to rely on it so much," Elsa said as they approached the doors. She sighed. "Alright. Anything else I should know before I go out there and read this list?"  
"Yes," Odette said. "If you'd wanted to, you could have just abolished the court and hand-picked thirty-two men and women to govern with you. You make the rules around here. But you relinquished your control to the people. They might not have picked the exact same thirty-two as you did, but it's important that you let _them_ make the decision. Democracy is a noble goal."

Elsa smiled a bit. "Yes, well, now I have to go out there and talk about how progress doesn't always advance by leaps and bounds, and how sometimes, every now and again, we have to take one step back before we take two steps forwards."

Odette's eyes twinkled with a laugh. "Just make sure you give me line credit this time."


	15. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

 _He knew nothing of his love but the warmth of her kiss, ticking at his underside as he performed his nightly waltz through the sky._

* * *

The Bronx,

New York City

July 1st, 1843

Hans looked up and down the narrow alleyway. It was hung overhead with clotheslines, cluttered with garbage, and only five feet or so across. He could hear a dog barking in the distance.

"Well," he turned to Kariena, "I can see why you and your band of misfits haven't been discovered yet."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kariena picked her way around the pieces of a shattered wooden chair strewn across the narrow space, leading the former prince towards a dingy old door nestled into one of the walls. There was a rusted steel sign nailed to the wooden boards labeled: _STORAGE._

"I can't imagine the police consider a raid on this part of town worth their time," Hans said. "They probably wouldn't come knocking with a ten-foot pole."

They came to the door, which would let into some rooms set behind a Chinese laundromat up front. According to Kariena, the man had an inkling or two about what they were up to in the back, but he preferred to tell himself that he was just providing housing to underprivileged vagrants. In some sense, that was true. Kariena knelt beside an old cardboard flap, and fished around underneath it for a moment. She came up with a key.

"Well, mister bigshot, if you'll deign to follow me into this fetid hellhole, I'll get right back to putting a roof over your head tonight."

Chagrined, Hans followed her through the doorway into a thin, unlit hallway. "Look, I'm sorry," he said. "I really am grateful."

"Apology accepted," Kariena said. Her voice hadn't risen during the exchange; she didn't really seem upset by his comments in the first place. Still, Hans didn't know how freewheeling she was with her emotions. "And welcome to this humble place some of us call home."

They stepped into a little living space, with a round wooden table and some chairs around it set in a small and dirty kitchenette; on the other side of the room was a sofa and a bookshelf that, to Hans's surprise, was armed with quite a few books. At the table sat a young man with a rather sallow face, halfway through a beer. He was lit by a lantern that sat in the middle of the table. The man glanced over as they entered and raised an eyebrow upon seeing Hans.

"Evening, Heller," Kariena said, settling into one of the chairs. "This is Hans. A friend."

Heller eyed the former prince critically. He took another swig. "Has he sworn on the code?"

"Not yet," Kariena said, "but I made him shake on it. I trust him. Who else is here?"

Heller finished his beer. Hans had remained standing, leaning back against the far wall, half-lit. Truth be told, he didn't care one bit if Heller trusted him or not. He had far bigger things to worry about right now.

"Well," Heller said, "I know for a fact that Rose is. Saw her heading to bed right about as I sat down. She had a pick that didn't go well earlier tonight. Had to give a few conners the slip near Central Park."

"Is that where the good pickings are these days?" Kariena drew one leg onto her chair and rested a hand on top of her knee. "That's awfully far from home."

"Not in general," Heller growled. "But there was some sort of 'theatre in the park' shite going on. Rose figured there'd be lots of fops with disposable income around."

"And there wasn't?"

"No," Heller turned and spit towards a wastebasket against the wall. He missed. Hans's nose wrinkled, if only slightly. "There was, but it turns out she picked the wrong guy to try and lift from. He was an ex-constable, some feller who'd landed a title with some important case, but the point was he knew what to look for, and she got caught."

"You said she _almost_ got caught," Hans said. The pair turned to look at him.

"That's right," Heller said. "The conner tried to grab her, but she gave him the slip." He turned back to Kariena. "Where were you tonight?"

"Plying my trade," Kariena said. "I was at a party at Kingsford Hall, but things got pretty ugly. Hans here helped me get out in one piece."

Hans thought that was a rather generous assessment of who'd contributed the most during the fighting. He was still trying to wrap his head around just how powerful the ability to teleport was. Every time he thought he was starting to be ready for what the world of magic could throw at him, something came along to prove him wrong. He was just glad that, for the moment, Kariena didn't seem like she was about to start killing people.

As a matter of fact, red band, the leader of the wizards back in that party who'd had the power to slow time, was certainly still alive. He'd know who he was looking for.

Suddenly, something in the air changed, if only imperceptibly.

Heller and Kariena's conversation faded away slowly, muffled as if heard from underwater. Hans heard a warping in the walls, and a deep rumble in his bones. The pair at the table continued talking, oblivious to Hans as he fought the sensation for a few moments, and then went under. His eyes rolled back into his head and closed, and he was gone.

"Welcome back," the voice said.

Hans looked around. He stood alone, in a dark chamber. He couldn't discern the source of the voice, couldn't make out its tenor. He knew Everdark's voice. This wasn't it. He began to search the chamber wildly. This was something different.

"Who are you?"

"Who do you think I am?" A shadow moved in the darkness.

Hans walked forwards, boots clicking against the stone. He approached the shadow, hand outstretched. His fingers reached out towards the form, and – passed right through. He whirled around.

"We can play this game as long as you like," the shadow said. "Or we can talk. Personally, I think that talking's a bit more productive."

"This is a hallucination," Hans said.

"Of course it is," the shadow said. "How does that make it any less real?"

Hans paced around for a moment. He smoothly drew a Colt from his belt and pointed it towards the shifting the shadow. Then, his aim wavered. He didn't shoot.

"We both know why this is happening, Hans. We both know that I wasn't the one who called _you_ here. As a matter of fact, it's the other way around."

"No," Hans said. "No."

"Yes," the shadow said, then shifted again, silkily flowing along the wall. "You might call them 'unwelcome thoughts,' but they've have found quite a home in your mind."

"No," Hans growled. "You think that you have purchase here, Everdark, but you don't. You think that you can enter my mind, speak to me with some foreign voice, and suddenly I'll fall into marching order? It's pathetic."

The shadow suddenly coalesced into the form of a man, and stepped into view. Hans stared into his own eyes. It was him. He was the shadow. The voice was suddenly horribly familiar.

"Everdark did not place these thoughts in your mind, Hans. I did."

"No," Hans said, stepping away from his reflection, panic swelling in his chest. "NO! I've changed! I am not the same person that I once was!"

His reflection smoothly raised an eyebrow, smiling crookedly. "Who are you trying to convince?" He said. "Yourself?"

"Damn you!" Hans shouted, drawing his pistol again and emptying the chamber into his reflection. The bullets just passed through. "Get out of my mind!"

"I _can't_ get out of your mind, Hans," the vision said. "I _am_ your mind."

Hans stumbled backwards, hitting the wall hard. He leaned against it, feeling dazed, even as the vision continued.

"Why don't we start that talk, then?" It clasped its hands together and smiled again.

Hans was reeling. He placed a hand to his forehead. He was no stranger to lucid hallucinations; they'd been quite common as he'd descended towards insanity during his imprisonment. But those had been happy. They'd been hopeful, an escape from his horrible present. The only other time he'd had a vision like this, it had been Everdark pulling the strings. And he'd been very drunk.

"Yes," he said raggedly. "Let's."

"Why don't we start with the stuff that you're liable to agree with," Hans's projection said. "You would be wasted as another of Everdark's vassals. The God of Darkness is an insidious poison, trying to turn you against your own self-interest."

Hans slowly drew his hand across his face. "Yes."

The vision smiled. "Good. Let's take the next step."

"It was wise of Hades to give you the tensing disk. This way, you can become even more powerful, even more capable of defeating Everdark."

"Yes," Hans said again, his hands straying towards his weapons. How could he end this vision?

"It was foolish of Hades to think that you need him, however."

"What are you talking about?"  
"You already know the answer to that," his reflection said. "Hades is nothing to you but dead weight. When has he fought tooth and claw against Everdark's most powerful allies and emerged victorious? When has he shed a drop of blood for your 'shared' cause? You are nothing to Hades but a lackey."

"No," Hans said. "He is my friend. And I owe him my life besides."

"See, there's the tricky part. The only bond that you and the Prince of the Underworld truly share is your heart, kept safe in a mason jar deep in the catacombs underneath Hades's palace. If you reclaimed your heart, you'd be your only master."

"I need allies," Hans growled. "Hades has given me his full support."

"And where has that gotten you?" The reflection mocked, his voice growing vicious. "When have his allies given you anything but meaningless clues, empty reassurances that aid will come, only just after you've managed to do everything by yourself again?"

Hans felt a cold pit in his stomach.

"What are you saying?" He said, though he didn't really want to hear the answer.

"Hades is only a liability. For your sake, for _our_ sake, we must reclaim our heart and retake our destiny." Before Hans could reply, his reflection began to advance, its voice rising with anger as it kept going. "We'd have to be a damn fool to leave our greatest vulnerability in the hands of another. For all we know, the Underworld is already compromised by Everdark's forces. After all, why wouldn't the God of Darkness retake its rightful home first?"

Hans had nowhere to hide from this reflection of himself. He couldn't block out its words because they were already in his head. He wanted to scream, but found his mouth already moving, mirroring the words spoken by himself, standing only a few inches apart.

"If everyone looks out for themselves, everyone has someone to look out for them."

The vision rapidly faded, and Hans gasped as the dingy little kitchenette swam back into focus. He stumbled forwards and leaned heavily against one of the chairs. It scraped and gave a little, scooting along the floor, but it held his weight. Kariena was the only one still in the room with him, leaning back in her chair on the other side of the table with her legs kicked up onto it and crossed at the ankles. She smirked.

"I was wondering when you were gonna come back to me."

Hans stood there, head bowed, breathing heavily. His forehead was glistening with sweat. After a moment or two, Kariena realized that something wasn't right.

"Hans?" She took her feet off of the table and walked around the side, peering at him with a mixture of curiosity and worry. "What's wrong?"

For a few moments, he didn't answer. Unwelcome thoughts swirled in his mind. Then, after a few seconds, he spoke. "Nothing," he said slowly. "Nothing at all. I just… I need to get some air for a moment. Excuse me."

He walked back through the little hallway that fed into the dining room and stepped out into the alleyway. It was the early hours of the morning, and the sky was an inky shade of indigo. In a few minutes, it would start to turn an ashy grey. He placed his hands against the rough bricks that formed the walls of the little criminal hideout, and he drew his hands along them, deliberately taking in the rough surface. It was tangible, and _real._ It helped bring him back.

He didn't know how long he stood there, like that. After some length of time, the door opened, and Kariena stepped out. He glanced down, and saw that she was wearing thin flats this time.

"You can't honestly go completely silent for almost a half an hour, and then come back looking like you just finished outrunning Death, and tell me that nothing's wrong."

Hans turned to glance at her. She was very beautiful. He imagined that, in some reality where he behaved like a normal man his age, that he'd already be looking for some way to start courting her. But he was heartless, in more ways than one.

"It's really nothing," he said.

"Nothing that happened, or nothing that you're willing to explain to me?" She said, crossing her arms and leaning back against the doorframe.

"Nothing that I'm willing to explain to you," Hans leveled.

She sighed and stepped away from the doorframe, closer to Hans. "Look, Hans, I'm smart enough to realize that you're going to cause me a substantial amount of trouble. You were the reason those wizards were at that party last night, and I'm pretty sure that you're going to bring more bad guys with you, wherever you go. I can understand if you really do believe that what you're doing is way over my head, but if that's the case, then I suggest you move on. I can't be any help to you if you won't let me."

"Yes," Hans said, hollowly. "Yes, I'm sorry, but I have to thank you for your hospitality now, and leave."

It wasn't a good idea that he was having, but then again, it didn't feel like he had much of a say in the matter.

"I don't suppose that you're going to bother telling me where you're going?" Kariena said, sighing.

"No," Hans said, turning around and gazing back into the city. "No, I'm sorry, but I can't."  
He started to walk towards the mouth of the alleyway. Just before he reached it, arcane energy blossomed through the air and Kariena appeared in front of him. She leaned to the side, placing one hand against the wall of the Chinese laundromat and smirking.

"What my dear Hans forgets, it seems, is that he has already told me quite a bit about his business here, last night."

"This isn't a game, Kariena," Hans said, perhaps more angrily than he should have. "If you'd listened to anything I told you about what I'm doing, you'd understand that."

"Understand that?" Kariena frowned. "How could I possibly understand a damn thing about you, Hans? You really haven't told me anything other than that you believe you're chasing after the followers of some 'god' who's trying to subvert all humanity. I wonder why on earth I might be a little worried about your sanity right now."

Hans sighed, and put his hands on his hips. Then he ran his hand over his face again. "Look, Kariena. You have magic. Surely you realize that the world is far larger than you could possibly imagine. Surely you agree that it's worth taking a leap of faith every now and again."

"Yes, I do. Which is why I think that even if I find what you're saying far-fetched, I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. That is, if you can manage to let down your prickly asshole vibe for a minute or two and let someone in."

Hans's moment of frayed sanity had passed. No longer was he planning on heading to Hades's temple and fighting through anyone that stood between him and his heart. Mostly, now he felt tired and frightened.

"You're right," he said hollowly. "You're very right."

"Why don't we head inside?" Kariena said.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Hans said, frowning. "I don't get it."

They turned and began to head back towards the hideout.

"Not everyone in this life is a dick, Hans," Kariena said. "When things seem to be headed south, it's even more important that you find some people to put your faith in."


	16. Chapter Thirteen

Author's Note:

Happy New Year, everyone! I hope that you all had a wonderful holiday, no matter how and what you celebrated. Welcome back.

xxx

Chapter Thirteen

 _The world knew of the moon's infatuation because he danced through the sky, each night more beautifully than the one before._

* * *

Condorcet Square,

Arendelle

July 7th, 1843

Odette's mind was wandering. There was a lot to be thinking about, and despite the uproarious nature of the hundreds pressed into the little square, she was quite focused. She was mulling over some things she'd translated from old journals, some rather odd things that required some time to digest.

"Madam?" The voice cut through the din. Odette looked up.

A portly street vendor was holding a bag of roasted and seasoned peanuts out towards her from behind his little wheel-cart.

"Oh! Thank you!" She said, hurriedly reaching inside her handbag and fishing out her pocketbook. She'd completely lost track of her place in the line. She fished out her smallest banknote and glanced down at it. It was worth a half-crown, and would probably overpay by almost ten times. But she didn't have any coins on her, so she handed it to the surprised man anyway. "Keep the change, sir."

"Madam is too generous!" The man said as he bowed to the woman he now perceived, from her fine clothing and gross overpayment, to be a blueblood. He probably continued speaking, but Odette was sort of embarrassed about the whole exchange, so she returned her pocketbook to her bag and walked off, blending into the crowd within a few moments.

She slid her purse down to her elbow and used her free hand to pop one of the peanuts into her mouth. They were rather good. She didn't remember exactly when she'd stopped carrying real money around. It was a sign, she supposed, that she'd become something that she hadn't started out as. A person who held no cash on hand, but rather bank affidavits worth many times what one could carry in gold, could not easily make trivial purchases. The many common folks who waited on someone like that would be left with the more menial tasks. Perhaps the truest mark of an elite.

It wasn't even her money, really; it was the crown's. Odette was one more step removed from her own finances these days; she never even saw real coins for the most part, anymore, and yet she could spend whatever she wished.

Was this what is was like to be rich?

Odette eventually found her way to the square's center, where a wooden stage had been hastily constructed for the queen's speech in… Odette glanced over to the tower clock at one side of the large square. Five minutes. Huh. She figured Elsa would have arrived by now.

Almost without pause, McMaster, the captain of Elsa's guard, fell in beside her shoulder. "Odette. Have you seen the queen?"

He looked anxious, and that made Odette anxious. "Well, no. Weren't you on the same train?"

"No, I came early to help set up a beat around the perimeter." Elsa's personal guard took event security quite seriously, even more so after the turmoil and violence that the little country had experienced lately. They'd have a patrol of several experienced men around the edges of the square, including perhaps some people stationed on rooftops.

When they'd first met, Odette had thought McMaster brusque and rude, but now she realized that off-duty, the man was quite pleasant. He took his job seriously. "Brettin was, though, as well as some new boys, apparently. I haven't met them yet – Brettin was the one who introduced them to the queen. Anyway, I'm rambling," McMaster said. "I haven't seen any of them, either."

Odette glanced over her shoulder, into the section of the square that had been cordoned off for the members of Parliament and their families. Around the edges of this area were several guards, but Odette didn't recognize the thickly bearded Brettin among them.

"I'm not sure," Odette said. "I was at the Saint Adelaide this morning, so I haven't seen the queen all morning. You can ask Seranilla if you like, but I'm sure her train's just running a bit late. They run into delays sometimes, and you know how long it can take to get a royal entourage on and off those things."

Matter of fact, Elsa had decided that she didn't like the passenger trains very much, but it was important for the populace to see their queen using them. They were good for the economy, and she needed people to trust the hulking machines.

McMaster nodded, but he seemed absent. He glanced back down at her. "Go talk to some of the MPs. Let them know the reason for the delay, and we'll try and get things going smoothly again as soon as she shows up."

Odette technically didn't need to do anything resembling taking orders from McMaster; as a matter of fact, as 'personal aide to the queen' was her current job title (as well as chair of the Intersectional Advisory Committee, but that was more of an honorary position), there really weren't more than a handful of people who could really her orders. But she wanted to help, and this was a way to do it.

"Can do, Cap'n," she said, mock saluting.

"You demoted me," McMaster said, smirking and waving a hand dismissively to her.

Odette smiled sweetly back and stepped down the stairs at the back of the wooden stage, leaving McMaster to look for Seranilla. The purpose of this event, held on the morning of the first Saturday after the Arendane elections, was to swear in the thirty-two men who constituted Arendelle's new Parliament, and announce to the general public that they were to begin the cooperative draft of a constitution with Elsa. It was a big day, and the excitement was palpable among the incoming members and their families.

Odette didn't know any of them, so she just walked up to the closest family and introduced herself. The four people were comprised of the member, an older man with silvery hair and a rather squarish face, as well as a woman who Odette presumed to be his wife, though she was at least fifteen years younger than he, and two children who were probably around Odette's age. Odette figured that they probably weren't related to the current wife.

"Good morning! My name is Odette Marie Novare. I'm the queen's personal advisor, and I'd like to be the first to extend the crown's official congratulations to you all. Today is a very historic day."

The soon-to-be-member smiled kindly, and shook her hand with an almost childish vigor. "Good morning, good morning, it certainly is historic, isn't it? Jean-Claude Piret, my dear. This is my wife Annika, and our two sons Caul and Phillipe. It is a great pleasure to have the privilege of accepting this duty, a great pleasure indeed."

Piret was one of the men the crown had endorsed, though Odette couldn't remember for which district, precisely. She'd had only a tangential connection to the elections. She smiled and shook the hand of his wife Annika, and then was surprised to find that each of the sons insisted on bowing to ceremoniously press their lips to the back of her hand. She tried not to blush, but it was rather unexpected, and another loud reminder that the life she lead today, one which involved brushing shoulders with the wealthy and elite, was far removed from the one she'd had as a child.

Odette made sure to exchange what she felt was an appropriate amount of small talk with Piret and his family, before moving on. She finally stepped away from them, removing her spectacles for a moment and wiping them on a silk handkerchief, before she ran directly into someone walking fast in the other direction, sending her tumbling to the side.

Before she hit the ground, a hand caught her and pulled her upright again, steadying her. Shaken, Odette slipped her glasses onto her nose again and blinked up at Edward Seranilla. The handsome guardsman smiled down at her, shifting his weight and placing one hand on his hip. "You ought to keep those glasses on while your walking, Odette, or else you'll head right into walls, too."

"Hey! That person ran into me, and not the other way around," Odette said annoyedly, turning over her shoulder to look after the rude fellow. They were long gone, swallowed up again by the crowds.

"Besides, I was just getting some mascara off of the lenses." Naturally long lashes were both a blessing and a curse to Odette. "Have you spoken to McMaster yet?"

"No. Does he want to speak with me?"

"Yes," Odette said. "He wondered whether you knew when Elsa's train was arriving."

Seranilla began to work his way through the crowd again, and Odette fell into step alongside him. "Well, I don't unfortunately. But I might as well talk to him nonetheless; I had to stop a street gang from working their way into the east side of the crowd, and I'd like to tell McMaster to pass that along to all the boys. We ought to keep up a tight perimeter on that side. Don't want any trouble, you know?"

"A street gang?" Odette echoed, worriedly.

"Well, perhaps calling them that is a bit generous," Seranilla allowed. "Mostly, they were a couple of young urchins with some two-by-fours, but I'm sure they'd be ecstatic to hear someone calling them a gang."

They arrived again on the wooden stage, and Odette cast a glance out into the crowd. Some of the people seemed to be getting a bit restless, but mostly they were staying in place. She glanced over at the clock tower again. They were now five minutes past when the speech should have began. She turned back to see McMaster and Seranilla speaking, a few feet away. She couldn't hear what they were saying over the din of the crowd. Just as she stepped closer, McMaster beckoned to her, and she trotted up to them.

"Do you know Gevan?" He asked her.

Odette rolled the name over once in her head. "Is he young, with dark hair and a moustache?"

"Yeah," the commander replied. "He's stationed over by that bakery there." He indicated. "Would you mind working your way over to him and telling him that some local toughs might be trying to work their way into the crowd? Edward will be handling the other side."

Still figuring that she should be useful however she could, Odette nodded. "Yeah, sure."

"Okay, thanks," McMaster replied, distractedly. She heard him murmur, more quietly, "now who can I rustle up to get on that podium and start speaking?"

Odette was already off, trotting down the stairs and heading into the crowd.

xxx

Elsa stepped off of the train, surrounded by the two dozen men and women who today formed her entourage; they were a mixture of guards, advisors, and speechwriters. Elsa was annoyed that they were running late, so she was grouchy with the people around her, which set them walking on eggshells, which made her more annoyed. She stepped into the first of the carriage caravan that would take them the five blocks to Condorcet Square, let two guards in after her, and rapped twice on the roof. The cabbie started off immediately.

She glanced over at the guards even as she patted her hair, making sure that no strands had gone astray. They looked jumpy, anxious. Elsa felt a prickle of something odd. "I'm terribly sorry, I don't know either of your names."

The two men exchanged a glance. "Don't worry about it, your majesty. We're both rather new assignments. I'm Daniels, he's Groff."

Elsa frowned. "You see, the thing is, normally McMaster will arrange a personal introduction when he introduces new people to my personal guard. If he can't do it, usually Brettin will. I've become rather familiar with most of them."

The pair of men each reached for their belts at the same time. Elsa summoned her magic and clenched one hand into a fist, and icy shackles erupted from the air around the men, binding their arms to their sides and their legs together. In a single, fluid movement, Elsa drew a sword of ice from the air and swept it underneath the soldiers' chins. Their eyes widened, their heads tipping back to keep from cutting themselves against the edge.

Elsa regarded them with narrowed eyes. "Getting assassins into my personal guard would have been rather difficult. It would have taken time, and connections. So why waste the opportunity on incompetent men like the two of you?"

Elsa's mind wheeled. "This is a back-up plan. I was supposed to die some other way, and you two were here to make one last attempt if the first one failed. But we're running late, so you panicked and worked your way into my carriage up front. If you two were worried enough to jump ahead of schedule, though, that means –"

An earsplitting explosion from several blocks away rocked the carriage. Then another. Then another.

xxx

Odette gasped a ragged breath, and sat up in a heady rush. Her ears were ringing, and for several seconds she couldn't make sense of what she was seeing. The air was thick with smoke. There was coughing. Maybe it was hers; she could feel it in her chest.

The air was burning. Odette looked around, her brain addled from the force that had knocked her momentarily unconscious. Her arms flailed wildly as she searched for something that could drag her to her feet, eventually feeling something rough. Stone. She'd been beside a building. Odette managed to work herself into a standing position. The ringing in her ears had turned into some sort of high-pitched whine.

Screaming. There was screaming. The stage was on fire, littered with corpses. The entire square was filled with them, but most were near the stage. The stage had exploded, and the people near it weren't people anymore. Little pieces of them were scattered all over Condorcet Square, little bloody pieces.

Odette couldn't think. She couldn't think. In the last year, she'd come uncomfortably close to death several times. She'd been shot at and she'd even been lit on fire. Somehow, none of that seemed to hold a candle to this. This was chaos, the frenzied kind of chaos that can only result from a crowd of hundreds, all desperately thrashing for their lives at once. She huddled to the wall of the bakery as screaming citizens pounded past her, mercilessly trampling the fallen.

McMaster.

Seranilla.

That nice family… the…

...

Odette couldn't remember their names. She blinked twice, and realized that she'd blacked out again, leaning against the wall of the bakery. The smoke was a deep, heady black, and the fires were an ugly, violent red. The air smelled of burning hair and something else. She needed to get out of here, or she was going to asphyxiate.

For the first time, Odette glanced down at herself. She saw that one of her ankles was twisted badly, such that her foot pointed out at almost a right angle. It was broken, to be sure. Could she do magic right now? She tried to look within herself, for that inner fire, but all she did was cough some more.

 _Fix your foot later. You need to go._

Odette tore her gaze away from the square and took a step, hissing as she suddenly felt the pain that had been waiting all along wash over her. Then another step. Then another, stumbling along in a lean against the wall, leaving a streak of blood from a dozen wounds that she couldn't see.

After what felt like hours, Odette made it to the end of the alleyway. She had to step over a torso, completely severed at the waist, that had managed to crawl this far with just their arms. It was sickening. All this violence. Odette stumbled into the street, and then her foot gave out. There was a painful wrench, and she collapsed, face-first, onto the paving stones. She heard faint shouting as she faded into unconsciousness again.

xxx

Four hours later, the fires were dying down in Condorcet Square. One person stood among the flames and the corpses, a glimmering cloak fluttering in a surprisingly cold breeze for July. Elsa twisted the sword in her hand and glanced down at it, staring for a few moments at the way the orange glow danced against the blade.

She turned around and started to pick her way through the bodies towards the wooden stage. The Queen of Arendelle took a slow, ragged breath. All across the city, its people had been evacuated to the nearest army barracks, where they could be kept safe from possible future attacks. When she'd heard the explosions, Elsa had leapt from the carriage and sped to the scene of the explosion, leaving her would-be assassins behind.

She hadn't been able to help. The fires had already claimed the lives they would, and the trampling mobs had slain the wounded. Her people had found Odette lying half-dead in a street behind the bakery where she'd been lit on fire by a pyromancer six months before. Elsa rubbed her face.

When she'd finally returned to the carriage where she'd left the assassins, she found them both dead. Their throats had been slit. Someone on their side had found them captured, and hadn't been able to get them out of their bonds. So he'd done the next best thing.

She stopped on the only stable portion of the constructed stage that remained, and looked over the scattered seats where the members of her new parliament had been seated. They hadn't even been able to identify all of the bodies. Some were unrecognizable now.

Elsa felt a sudden, cold fury. She turned once around and threw her sword, screaming as it flew. It buried itself up to the hilt in the stone wall of the clock tower, which stood unscathed in the middle of this hellish nightmare.

"What have I done to displease You, You fucking coward?"

The only response was the flickering of the flames.

"It must have been something pretty bad, or else You'd at least have the decency to try and kill me in a way that wouldn't take so many innocent people along for the ride."

Elsa turned and started down the steps of the stage, her voice growing harsh and accusatory.

"What have I done to receive Your everlasting torment, oh mighty Lord?" Elsa spread her hands. "You killed my parents, before they ever even got to see their daughters grow up. But that wasn't enough, so You sent Hans to try and take my sister from me, too."

Elsa's voice broke.

"My sister. There isn't a person alive she wouldn't treat with love, and kindness. There isn't a person alive who wouldn't agree that her soul is worth keeping."

Elsa was gazing upwards now, standing again in the center of the square and looking to the sky.

"You brought Odette into my life just long enough to let me fall in love, and then You try to snuff her out, too." Elsa laughed once, humorlessly. "What is this, the third time, now? Maybe I'm just getting lucky, or maybe You aren't as omnipotent as You claim.

"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.

"Is that what this is all about, You vain and petulant thug? I may not praise Your name, but I'm still trying to be the best damn leader to these people I can.

"Less people starved last year than ever before on these streets. More poor people can read, because of the schools we've built. They're building skills that will get them jobs, real jobs, the kind that can move someone up in this world. We just held the first fair and free election this nation's ever seen."

Elsa's eyes blazed, leaking white magic from the sides. She was radiant, and terrible there in the center of the square, emitting an aura of something powerful and violent.

"And all that means nothing, because I won't accept You as my savior? Because I have the _audacity_ to think that the strength of human character is derived from within, and not from within the halls of a cathedral? Because I'm willing to damn convention and do not what is expected, but what is right?

"You may not be Everdark. You may even be doing what you can to stop it. But you cannot be the light unless you are better than the darkness. And I swear, on the sacred memory of the lives that You have taken today, that I will kill You both."

Elsa's challenge sent a wave of ice through the square, quenching the fires and freezing the pain. She closed her eyes, and opened them again to a wound, patched over. Everything was still, and silent. Frozen. She laughed, once more without mirth.

"You know, it's kind of funny. We've had peace, now, for six months, and we've been so hard at work rebuilding our world that it was easy to get caught up and forget that my job isn't done. Oh, no, you see, it's just beginning."

Elsa turned and extended her hand towards the clock tower, and her sword freed itself from the stone, soaring through the air in a flash of light, landing in her firm clasp. She turned and pointed the tip towards the sky.

"Well, no more. I _will_ fulfill my destiny."


	17. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

 _It is unclear whether the sun knew that she had beguiled the moon._

* * *

Olympia,

The Southern Isles

April 2nd, 1830

Hans hit the dirt. Hard. The jeering pounded on his ears like a waterfall, dousing him in their bloodlust and hatred. He started to scramble to his feet before something smashed the back of his head and he hit the ground again. His vision blurred for several seconds.

"That was a good hit, Jarl." The men laughed, and Hans could hear the congratulatory slaps they levied on Jarl's shoulders. They thought Hans was down for the count.

He probably should have been. He'd accidentally bitten his tongue as he fell, and his mouth was awash with the taste of copper. He spat to the side and dragged himself to his feet, much to the surprise of the gang of drunkards. They couldn't believe that the fifteen-year old, effeminate-looking priss who'd picked a fight with them was still going.

Well, he was. He rolled his shoulders, wincing as they protested against the movement, and then fell back into a wrestling stance, with his legs wide and his body down, ready to grapple.

Jarl laughed once, and then stepped into a punch, throwing his weight at Hans. The young prince ducked around the blow and rushed in, getting his arms around the far larger man's torso and trying to rush him to the ground. The truth was, he was never done picking fights these days.

He rammed Jarl into the wall of the distillery and tried to get the man to the ground, but it was like trying to topple a statue. His body was too weak for this. The big Nordic man rammed his knee into Hans's groin, which he'd foolishly left unprotected. Jarl shook his head as Hans fell backwards, eyes wide and wheezing. The boy had spirit, but he was really in over his head. He had no idea what he was doing in a street brawl, and he shouldn't be picking these fights.

Jarl stepped forwards and clobbered both sides of Hans's head at once with his fists, boxing the boy's ears and sending him to the ground, clutching at his lower abdomen and groaning, still leaking blood from his mouth onto the ground. It was sort of unfortunate, Jarl thought to himself. He'd seen the boy's type before; young rich fops, a couple of years into fencing practice, who somehow thought that their expertise with an epee would translate to the kind of grit and stamina you needed for real fighting.

One of Jarl's friends started towards the boy's crumpled frame, but he stopped them with a hand to the shoulder. "Enough. The boy's learned his lesson. He'll keep his head down next time."

Slowly, the gang of drunkards departed, leaving Hans lying on the street in agony, crumpled in his own blood. He coughed.

"What the hell are you doing, soldier?" The gruff voice startled Hans, and he whipped around to see a middle-aged, unshaven man wearing slightly ruffled Westergaard uniform standing behind him. He kicked at Hans, and the young prince scrambled to his feet to avoid another blow. "I see you out here every week, trying to get beaten up by some group of thugs. And in uniform, too. You really don't seem to care about bringing disgrace to the colors, though, do you?"

Hans felt an immediate heat in his cheeks. It was brash, and it was foolish, going about looking for brawls in uniform. It brought disrespect to the country. The man who addressed him had captain's bars, but Hans didn't recognize him immediately. Was he supposed to know this man? No. The man didn't recognize him; otherwise he'd have addressed Hans with the proper honorific.

"Swear to God, soldier, I've known plenty of fools in my time, but none of them actively tried to get themselves hurt."

Hans didn't respond. He tried to project a sense of defiance, but he suspected it was undermined by the blood running down his jaw. He wiped at it with the back of his hand.

"Look. If you don't get your head dressed, you won't be around to give me that punk-ass face much longer."

Surprised, Hans reached for the back of his head, and was surprised to find it ginger and slick. He took his hand away, seeing blood on his fingertips. His eyes widened, and suddenly he could feel the sharp pain at the base of his head. His pulse quickened.

"Now calm down, there," the man growled, turning and starting to walk, expecting Hans to follow. He did. "It's not _that_ bad. I've seen plenty worse, and you will too, if you ever make it to a battlefield."

Hans followed the man with a hand to the back of his head, fear making his thoughts muddy. He'd heard a lot about head wounds – weren't blows to the back of the head supposed to be debilitating? Perhaps that was why he couldn't think straight. God, he'd been a fool. Why couldn't he just mind his own business, anyway? Maybe that girl was just playing hard to get with those men, after all.

"Not that I'm saying I hope you have to fight in a war, soldier. I hope you don't; war is hell. Anyone who thinks otherwise hasn't had to look into the eyes of a dying man and realize that you put the bullet in him."

They reached a little flat, and for the first time Hans realized that the man was carrying a sack that likely held groceries. The man had been out shopping for supper when he'd stumbled upon Hans and his fight. Well, Hans shoved down the embarrassment he felt at disrupting the old soldier's day. The man was offering to help him, and he'd be a fool not to accept. The old soldier fumbled with a key for a few moments, and the door chunked as the lock was undone. They stepped into a darkened chamber.

"I just got back from Devinor, so you'll forgive me if my uniform's a bit out of place, by the way. Apparently, they don't have a _single_ captain who knows the standard drills out there, so Lieutenant Colonel Fent himself sent me out there to go teach 'em. I swear, discipline is a thing of the past in the army these days."

Hans remained on the threshold as the soldier went about opening windows to let in some light. The young prince tried to force the water from his eyes, tried to ignore the stinging pain. He wasn't crying anymore. He hadn't, for almost five years, no matter how bad things got. He was stronger now.

"What's your name, sir?" Hans asked to distract himself.

The old man kept a remarkably clean household, despite his rather unkempt appearance. He motioned for Hans to sit at the kitchen table, and wasted no time looking for medical supplies.

"Captain Dhurstrom Kess, son." Kess settled into the seat next to Hans, placing a bowl of warm water, some white gauze, and medical tape on the table. "Now, how about you tell me a little bit about yourself as you let me check out that wound on the back of your head?"

Hans turned around, and his shoulders tensed in anticipation of the painful stinging that would accompany the cloth; when it came, it wasn't as bad as he expected, and he relaxed a little. He decided not to give his real name to the man, for fear that Kess would go directly to the king if he found out the truth.

"Private Hans Siguror," he replied, the last name coming to him from somewhere. Perhaps his studies?

"Huh," Kess grunted as he began to position the gauze. "You any relation to the Arendane Sigurors?"

Oh. Of course. He'd heard the name from his statecraft tutor. Damn, he was a fool.

"Um, no," Hans replied quickly. "But I get that a lot, as you can imagine. My father swears our crest dates back even further than theirs, though."

Kess snorted. Of course that was bluster; the Siguror family had one of the proudest and most venerable heritages of the European monarchies. The state could claim nearly one thousand years of rule, and the weakness of its current heir, who was said to be a sickly girl confined mostly to the palace, was considered a potentially worrisome topic among high-minded European politicians with an eye for the direction of its nations. Of course, King Agnarr was young, so there wasn't much to worry about yet.

"Alright, soldier, I think that bandage will serve well enough. At least, until you can have a real medic look at it."

Hans turned back around. "Thank you, sir. This was very generous of you."

"Nonsense, soldier. Patching each other up is what we do."

Hans stood, shuffling awkwardly for a moment. "Well, sir, -"

"Just a second, soldier. You never did explain what you've been doing, picking fights with rough men down at the bars every week."

Hans bit back a counter that Kess had still left quite a bit unexplained about himself, like why a captain in the Westergaard army would live out in the city, rather than one of the barracks. He wasn't in a position to argue.

"It's not important, sir," Hans said, looking to the side.

"If I say it's important, soldier, then it damn well is," Kess grouched at him. "You trying to earn yourself a discharge?"

"No sir," Hans replied. "It's just… It's complicated, okay?"

"Look," Kess said, placing a hand on Hans's shoulder. "Soldier, I've seen this kind of look before. The look in your eyes. Normally I don't see it in men so young, but I know what I'm looking for. You think that you don't have anything to lose."

Hans stiffened. He was surprised at how perceptive Kess was. "Maybe I don't, sir."

Kess stared into Hans's eyes for several moments, seeming to judge his sincerity. After a moment, he nodded. "When's the next time you have leave?"

Unlike normal soldiers, Hans didn't live in the barracks. Hell, he was a prince. He got leave whenever he wanted to. Instead, he tried to figure out if there'd been some sort of regularity to his trips into the city.

"This Sunday," he said.

Kess shook his head. "Not soon enough. Look, first thing tomorrow morning, at the crack of dawn, I want you down here, soldier. And every morning after that. Maybe we'll take Sundays off."

"What for, sir?" Hans said, frowning.

"I'm gonna teach you to throw a punch," Kess growled. "If I can't stop you from picking fights, I might as well make sure you win them."

xxx

 _Thwack._

 _Thwack._

 _Thwack thwack thwack._

Hans pounded his fists into the bag of sand, hung in the corner of the hideout he was currently camped out in. It wasn't the same as the one Kariena had originally taken him to; on her recommendation, they'd moved to another one in lower Manhattan after a few days.

He hit the bag again, the muscles in his arm and shoulder coiling and uncoiling to release his frustration. His anger. It had been nearly a week since the day he'd met himself in that horrible vision, and each night he was tormented by his own words again.

Unwelcome thoughts.

That's what they were. They couldn't possibly have come to him unprompted, anyway. He was better than that.

 _Thwack._

"That thing owe you money?" Kariena's voice came from across the chamber.

Hans fired three more punches into the bag, the last one so hard that it split his skin around the knuckles. He sighed and turned towards her, walking over to the wall and picking up a white cloth. He began to wrap it around his right hand.

"You were expecting to hurt yourself?" Kariena said with raised eyebrows as she crossed the room. She stopped near a window and boosted herself up onto the wide sill.

"I have enough experience with this sort of wound, yeah," Hans replied. "What's up?"

He started to walk over to Kariena, catching the white undershirt she tossed to him and pulling it over his head.

"Much as I hate to interrupt your brooding, dear Hans, Mackey has some important news."

Hans came up to the same windowsill Kariena sat upon and placed his elbows on it beside her, gazing out through the soot-stained glass into the city. On the surface of things, their current hideout was an industrial manufacturing plant, and Joel Mackey was its owner. In reality, Mackey was another of Kariena's extensive coven of thieves and other petty criminals. Hans wasn't sure, but he remembered hearing that Mackey had been a white-collar embezzler before his current post maintaining this hideout.

"And what's that?"

"I asked him to try to figure out where Senator Wright lives, like you asked."

"Thank you, for that." Hans had been raised with the manners of a prince, yet he constantly found himself forgetting them these days. Kariena simply waved a hand dismissively.

"Don't mention it. Anyway, it turned out to be, like you expected, harder than one would think to figure out where the senator is staying. Especially not without setting off some alarms."

"Right," Hans replied. He was planning on taking the fight to the senator directly; he expected things to only get worse, now that his cover was blown. Best to try and get things over with quickly.

"But he thinks that one of his friends found him an address."

The term 'friends' was loaded, of course; Hans knew not to ask questions about sources of information by this point. Each criminal in the gang had their connections, and they liked to keep them private. It served both to protect the informants, and provide a comparative advantage to each of Kariena's fellow criminals.

"Do you have it with you?" Hans asked.

"No," Kariena replied. "From what Mackey told me, he doesn't even have the address himself. The 'friend' wants to meet with you in person, alone."

Hans frowned. "Kariena, I'm just going to politely point out that this sounds very much like a trap."

Kariena slid off of the window. "I know," she grinned. "It almost certainly is. That's what's going to make the meeting exciting."

Hans crossed his arms. "You also sound like you plan on coming along."

"I do," Kariena said seriously. "You dragged me into this mess, but I stuck around long enough to get invested. I want to see this through to the end."

Hans could hardly argue her qualifications; if anything, the plucky witch was more powerful than him. Really, the only objection he could form was that he preferred to work alone, and he was trying to break that habit. So he slowly nodded.

"I appreciate that. Where do we meet him?"

"Actually, the _he_ is a _she,_ " Kariena smiled more broadly as walked back towards the living quarters, clearly reveling in her ability to parcel information out to him. "And we do it tonight, at a little flat in the Bronx. I know the way."

They came into a small kitchenette, and Kariena retrieved a bottle of whiskey from one of the cabinets. "Her name's Eveline McFay. I know her from a few years back, and I wouldn't ever have expected her to be a rat, which makes things even better. I love a good surprise."

Hans sat across from her. "You know, it isn't even noon yet."

"Hmm?" Kariena said as she took a long pull, right from the bottle. Hans had learned that the young lady had a strong affinity and stomach for hard liquors in their brief time together; she drank enough to make Hans feel unmanly. She set the bottle down again. "Well, there's something to be said for consistency, isn't there?"

Hans smiled.

"You know what?" Kariena said, narrowing her eyes at Hans, but not in a suspicious way. "I don't think I've ever seen you laugh. Hell, you barely smile more than just a crooked little grin, like the one you just did."

"Well, I have a lot of reasons to be somber," Hans replied. "Sometimes it feels like I'm patching up little cuts on someone who's already been beheaded."

Kariena snorted.

"I'm not being melodramatic," Hans pressed.

"Well, you are being melodramatic, but you perceive there to be just cause for that," Kariena supplied. "A fine point, but one I'm willing to make."

Hans decided to turn the conversation to something he'd been meaning to ask for quite some time. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"I'm taken, if that's what you're asking after," Kariena said very seriously.

Hans frowned. "What? No, not that at all, -"

"- by Jesus," Kariena interrupted. "My hand is promised only to our Lord and Savior. Only He may confirm that I'm a tiger in the sheets."

Hans's jaw clenched. "I'm being serious."

Kariena fixed him with wide eyes. "So am I."

"Anyway, it's about your magic." Hans decided to let that last one slide.

"Okay, shoot." She took another drag.

"Your power is useful. Incredibly useful. Teleporting makes you practically unbeatable in combat, and has other obvious applications besides."

"I'm telling you, kissing my ass won't break my commitment to Jesus. Unless the two of you are interested in a three-way."

Hans met Kariena's gaze for several seconds.

"Okay, I'll stop now," she said.

"Why are you a part of all this?" Hans asked, motioning towards the warehouse around them. "If you wanted, you could just walk into the street behind any major bank at night, teleport your way into the vault, and teleport back out ten thousand dollars richer. Why don't you?"

"Why do you keep fighting this uphill slog against an all-powerful god when you're outnumbered and radically outgunned?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," Hans replied automatically. "Because the alternative would involve condemning the world to a horrible fate."

"Even though you'll still probably lose, even if you try? Wouldn't it be easier to just drink yourself stupid everyday until oblivion is not the alternative, but the reality?"

Hans ran a hand through his hair. The idea that he was probably going to fail in his quest to defeat Everdark was a constant, looming specter at the edge of his mind, but he didn't like to confront it directly. Best to keep fighting anyway.

"If I gave up, I would be admitting that I'm powerless," Hans said eventually. "I'm not ready to give up yet."

Kariena considered that, and then nodded, as if she approved. "Well, Hans, I like to believe that I live a moral life. Sure, it might be unconventional, and sure, it might step outside of the law every now and again, but at the end of the day I try to do more good than evil. That's why I only trade in stolen secrets, not stolen items, and that's why I will only steal from the rich and corrupt. The day I rob a bank is the day that I admit I'm not a moral person. And you could say that I'm not ready to give up yet."

She raised an eyebrow.

Hans laughed, a real one this time. "Good answer."

"Now let's figure out how to get through this meeting tonight without getting one of us killed, kay?" Kariena said, setting the bottle of whiskey aside and fetching a piece of wax paper and a pencil from a cupboard against the wall. She laid out the paper on the table and started boxing out a rectangle. "So this is Eveline McFay's apartment…"


	18. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

 _The moon tried chasing her for weeks, before he realized that he could not catch the sun. But he was clever, and he devised a plan._

* * *

Sadden's Manor,

Arendelle

July 8th, 1843

The people of Arendelle had been moved to makeshift safehouses all across the city. The army had been scrambled to the streets, and triple watches were an arterial flow through the wending veins of Arendelle. There was a beleaguered fear in the air, the kind that had known situations like this all too often of late. The streets around the late Namar Sadden's palace, the current seat of monarchial power, were cordoned three-deep, providing a protective bubble to those who had been the targets of the morning's attack.

Elsa wished they hadn't done that. She hated accepting extra protection. She hated admitting that she needed it. She hated that she had tried so hard to protect her people, and just when she was beginning to think that she might be able to shepherd the flock, it was all snatched away from her. So many people had died because of her.

She remained in the makeshift situation room that her advisors had created in the basement of Sadden's manor until they practically forced her to rest. They'd found one suspect, probably the one who'd killed the guards that had botched the assassination on Elsa. He'd been interrogated for several hours, including by Elsa herself. He was just a kid, and it seemed like he was willing to cooperate, but he simply didn't know very much.

He'd given them the location where the assassins had met their employer, and their initial numbers. They'd been hired in Oslo, to the north of Arendelle in the state of Norway. There'd been five men; two who set off the bombs in the square and died in the process, as well as the two assassins and this young man. He'd been walking the streets, keeping an eye on both of the distinct attempts on Elsa's life and intervening where necessary. The boy's name was Karl, and Elsa sensed that before he'd been radicalized by the Cult of Entropy, he'd been a bright, pleasant kid. Elsa told the guards not to execute him on the spot, which might have been the proper thing to do, but she didn't have the heart for it. Better to let him feel some remorse before they did anything.

As the night wore on, the chances of a repeat attack were starting to dwindle. Karl hadn't been able to tell them anything about a plan C, and Elsa was inclined to believe that there wasn't anything else forthcoming. Her advisors weren't as sure, and as such Elsa was forced to search for sleep on a cot in a stone saferoom when she finally retired, late into the night.

Sleep proved to be elusive, and Elsa didn't slip into a fitful slumber until the early hours of the morning.

She had a vision.

xxx

Elsa opened her eyes to find that she stood on the balcony of the ice palace that she had created on the day of her coronation, nestled onto the leeward slope of the North Mountain. A cold wind blew in from the sea, tousling her hair, which was let down. Elsa looked down and saw that she wore radiant armor. Frowning, she extended a hand and wiggled her fingers, staring at the brilliantly white plate. It practically glowed.

The queen noticed that there was a sword at her waist as well. She gingerly took it and drew it from the scabbard. It glided from its hilt, the sun a burning gleam along its edge as the sword was freed. Elsa twisted the sword, watching the mesmerizing was the light danced along the supremely balanced weapon. It was a thing of beauty, and somehow, she knew that it was hers. So was the armor.

She was the Protector, and these were her accoutrements.

Elsa gazed past the sword for a moment, and gasped. Arendelle lay far below her, set upon the fjord. It was in turmoil. Violent plumes of smoke rose from the city, and even from this distance she could see the maw of hungry flames. She placed a hand to her mouth, suddenly tasting something metallic. She could hear the screams. She shouldn't be able to hear the screams from this distance.

"I must apologize. I understand this must be a distressing sight to see." The voice came from behind her, unexpected and weathered, characterized by age.

Elsa started and turned to find that she was not alone on this balcony. She shared it with a wizened old man, clad in white robes and with long, drooping facial hair. The man had a bald head dotted with liver spots and narrow, slanted eyes. He clasped his hands before himself and bore an aura of an austere wisdom.

"I am sorry. Down another road, we might have met under happier circumstances than this."

Elsa stumbled backwards in shock, dropping the sword, where curiously it vanished into mist before touching the ground. She placed a hand against the railing behind her and raised another to her mouth, turquoise eyes going wide. There was a sense of the supreme about this being, something vast and incomprehensible just beyond the edge of her awareness.

"W-what's happening down there?"

This wasn't a dream. It didn't feel like one of the visions. This was something else.

The old man walked to the balcony and leaned against it as well, staring towards the smoldering horizon. The flames of war were reflected in his wizened gaze.

"They've forgotten the forest for the trees," the old man said cryptically. He turned towards Elsa, and she was surprised to see that the old man's eyes were glistened with tears. "I believe that I owe you an apology, Elsa. The world has asked much of you. Much more than you even know yet. You will be asked to sacrifice everything, for the sake of humanity. It is a terrible weight that you have been given."

Elsa met the old man's gaze, and suddenly realized that she knew the answer to the question before she even asked it. "You're God, aren't you?"

The old man smiled softly, a paternalistic look to his wizened face. "I am what's left of him. Yes."

"What's left?" Elsa echoed, hollowly.

"I am not as powerful as I once was, Elsa," God replied softly. "My strength wanes in a world on the cusp of eternal night. Soon, that night will come, and my time on this path will come to an end."

"You… you're dying?" Elsa asked, her voice hollow. This was not a vindictive god. This god wouldn't allowed the slaughter of innocents at Condorcet Square. Unless he didn't have the power to stop it.

God continued to smile. "I suppose that you could say that, though my departure from this path will not be so abrupt as the manner by which a mortal being embraces the great frontier. No, I would say instead that I am… taking a particularly large step, down another path."

"Everdark is stronger than you," Elsa whispered.

"Everdark is stronger than all of the immortals," God replied. "There is a reason why that which is made, will one day be unmade. Entropy is the single, unifying constant which binds our universe together. Life, love, and happiness are all fragile things, little candles flickering valiantly against a sea of darkness."

God was silent for several moments, during which he stared to the sea, past the death claiming the citizens of Arendelle.

"There is great beauty to dying words, Elsa," God whispered. "I can hear them all. Humans are beings of sublime grace, and they express themselves most artistically when there is no more time to make mistakes. I am struck by how various and how beautiful epitaphs are. Humans are nothing if not excellent at preserving the noblest fragments of those who have gone before them."

Slow tears trickled down God's face.

"Yes. Everdark is stronger than me. He is going to kill me, and all of the others. My brother came to us, and he tried to beg for our help. It was with great pain that I had to inform him that we had none to give. We are impotent, unable even to set foot on an earth that is being rent asunder before our very eyes. Soon I will not even have the power to bring mortals into a vison such as this one. It is very possible that you are the last human I will ever speak to, Elsa Siguror."

Elsa felt cold.

"I… I thought you could have saved them, if you'd wanted to. I thought that you must have been just as bad as Everdark."

God clasped his hands again. "I'm glad that you were angry. The fact that you care so deeply for those who you have never met is perhaps the single greatest indicator that we made our choice wisely. You are right to hate me, though perhaps your reasons for doing so are misplaced. If anything, hate me because I was complicit in your destiny. A less flawed being than I would have balked at the idea of sacrificing a human to any cause, even one so just as this."

"Sacrificing?" Elsa echoed.

"The choice was made so very long ago, I never imagined… well, I never imagined that Elsa Siguror would be so pure of heart. You will die, Elsa, so that others may live. You will defeat Everdark with your penultimate sacrifice. You will be the last and greatest Protector of this world. I am sorry."

"I…" Elsa's mind felt blank. "I have no choice?"

"That is perhaps the most beautiful thing of all," God replied, tear streaks lining his wizened face even as he smiled at her. "You do have a choice. And you will make the right one anyway. You beautiful, beautiful woman. My deepest regret is that I will no longer be alive to see when you prove yourself the greatest among us."

"Why are you telling me this?" Elsa said, her voice raw.

"Because you must not forget the forest," God replied, "when all you can see are the trees."

He pointed towards the horizon, and Elsa followed his gaze. With horror, she saw a tsunami rising from the ocean, a massive wall of water easily three hundred feet tall approaching Arendelle. While the people fought and died in the streets, they saw only individual struggles, petty thrashings over a single life. They did not see the rising tide until it rammed the city all at once, the engulfing wave sweeping everything away with it.

xxx

Elsa gasped for air when she awoke, as if she'd been drowning. She swung herself into a sitting position, hunched over herself and shivering violently. A drop of water fell from her hair and hit the stone floor of the saferoom. It took several moments before the sound of rushing water faded from her ears.

Elsa slowly stood and walked over to the small mirror on the wall, examining her face. She looked sallow. Her eyes were wide, and darkened, and her cheeks seemed almost sunken. She raised a hand to touch her face, and wondered briefly whether this was some lingering effect of the vision.

It didn't matter. She knew what she must do.

xxx

At nine in the morning that day, criers were dispatched to all of the city's safehouses. They would inform the public that it was probably safe to return to their homes, but that what had happened yesterday was far more than a simple and uninitiated act of violence. They would tell the citizens of Arendelle that things were going to get worse before they were going to get better.

xxx

"My friends," Elsa said, beginning to dictate the criers' address to a fleet of scribes at eight-fifteen. She was flanked on one side by Odette, and on the other by her sister Anna. Behind them stood Charles Vander and Montaigne, and several other close advisors. They all wore black, and they all bore solemn gazes. "Our collective nightmares were realized yesterday morning, when several unidentified bombers killed themselves and over one hundred others at Condorcet Square. For the second time in less than a year, those paving stones have known the taint of far too much of our blood.

"I would be asking far too much of you, if I asked you not to fear. But there is nothing wrong with being afraid, so long as that fear inspires you to fight for what you fear you may lose. I'm afraid that I must ask momentous things of even the ordinary among us, friends. For the first time in our country's history, we must acknowledge our presence in the scheme of something far greater. Surely you have seen the terrible violence that has possessed our quaint people. Surely you have suspected that something has changed."

Elsa sighed, as she dictated. The only noise was the hurried scratching of the squires' quills.

"I must admit, to you, my people, that I have concealed from you this greater truth until now. The truth, I warn you, is stranger than any invention of the mind, and even yet many of you will not believe me. I ask only that you listen with an open mind and heart.

"A great darkness has returned to the world. Everdark, a force of unrepentant destruction and evil, is fighting to tear away from us everything worth fighting for, and it will succeed unless we are strong.

"The god of darkness will, if given the chance, poison your mind and corrupt your soul. The violent and erratic behavior of the late King Frederick of Corona was a result of just such a domination. I have come to suspect that the same could be said for the very revolutionaries who bloodied our streets half a year ago.

"Things are going to get worse, before they get better. Everdark is amassing a force of wizards and men, unrivaled before on this world. That is the reason that I must abdicate the throne."

Elsa heard Anna gasp softly. She hadn't told anyone this, yet. Several of the scribes looked up at her. She would have expected to see incredulous faces, men and women who thought her mad for rambling about some sort of evil god, come to destroy them all. Instead, she saw fear in their eyes. They believed.

"The world of tomorrow is one where I will be expendable as a queen, but far less so as a soldier in the fight against Everdark. I was given the power to create and to destroy, and the time has come for me to use my powers to fight Everdark directly. It has been an honor to serve the fine people of Arendelle for four years, and I can only hope that I will continue to serve you at the edge of a blade."

Elsa turned and looked at Anna. Their eyes met, and Elsa could see something in Anna's eyes. The girl didn't want to rule; she wanted to be a mother to the children she and Kristoff would share. Elsa took a deep breath, and turned to face the scribes once more.

"In my absence, I leave the throne to Charles Vander. His family has led this country before, and they have been indispensable and helping lead the way during times of great duress. I bless his stewardship of this people and hope that he serves as a light in dark times."

Elsa turned now and met eyes with the oldest of her advisors, and he nodded solemnly to her. His eyes brimmed with tears, and he placed a hand to his heart.

"He will not fail you," Elsa said. "And I will try my best not to fail you, either. May our paths cross once again in peaceful times. Until then, the fight goes on."

xxx

The citizenry of Arendelle did not know that by the time they heard her address, Elsa had already boarded a ship bound for Oslo, taking only Odette and a small crew with her. She'd already made her tearful goodbyes, including one to Anna and the unborn child she carried. Elsa wondered how old the child would be before they met their aunt. She didn't want to entertain the possibility that she might never meet the child.

Elsa stood at the prow, feeling the sea spray mist her face and holding a familiar old leather scabbard. She knew the first of the four couplets, but she didn't seem any closer to the rest. And yet she planned to find the Cult of Entropy's recruiter in Oslo and… do what?

 _I do not falter under watch of darkness._

She would take this one step at a time. She'd figure out the next step once she took this one.

After all, the gods themselves had entrusted her with this mission, despite her lack of belief. They'd seen beyond the trivialities of self-definition and given her this charge anyway. They believed she could succeed. They believed that she was the Protector.

Sometimes, reality was little more than the most convincing illusion.


	19. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

 _The next night, when the moon passed the world's tallest mountain, he spoke to a proud eagle who made nest there. He said to the eagle, 'My friend, I know you consider yourself lord of the sky. But how can you think that, when I have seen so much more?'_

* * *

New York City,

New York

July 8th, 1843

Hans and Kariena crouched in an alleyway across the street from a run-down, rust-colored apartment building. Supposedly, the informant they were to meet lived here, though Hans had trouble believing that anyone was able to make this place into a home. He'd always imagined New York City as the shining, pristine beacon of the west that it was made out to be by all the modern Europeans who were claiming that America was going to be the world's next great power. He'd never considered that it must have slums like any other city.

"Did he?" Kariena said in a low voice.

"Hmm?" Hans replied, lost in thought. He turned to glance at the little witch. She was wearing all black, including a knit cap pulled low over her head. Her hair was tucked into it, so that from a distance she might be mistaken for a young boy.

"Did Kess actually follow through with you?" Kariena asked. "Did he ever figure out who you were? I mean, surely you had a pretty recognizable face, right? I mean, you can't just start this story and then trail off –"

"Yes," Hans interrupted. "Yes, he did. I would show up at his little flat every morning and we'd do a half-hour of meditation, followed by a sparring regimen. If he ever figured out who I was, he never let on."

Kariena frowned, obviously expecting more of a narrative response than he gave. "What gives?"

"What do you mean, what gives?" Hans replied. Truth be told, he didn't actually remember telling her the first part of the Kess story anyway. She might be the only other person who knew about that. He'd never even told Mallory; she hadn't much like fighting, and he hadn't wanted her to know what he was up to.

"I mean, first you tell me this whole story about the grizzled, brusque veteran with a heart of gold who takes a troubled but talented young man under his wing."

Hans snorted.

"It had plot, character development, emotion, hell, it was a right good story, it was."

Hans never could tell when Kariena was going to start using that Cockney voice. It didn't even make sense; near as he could tell, she was from Vermont.

"And then you go and finish like regular gruff old Hans. It's almost like, for a minute there, you forgot who you were supposed to act like."

Hans snorted again.

Kariena continued to look at him, until he sighed and gestured towards the apartment building. "Look, are we here to do this, or what?"

"Ain't no reason we can't multitask, eh, gov'nr?" Kariena elbowed Hans twice.

Hans sighed. Sometimes, he wondered if Kariena was trying to be annoying, or if this was just the way she was. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," she replied, growing more serious. "But seriously, I think that there's plenty more story to your past than you're telling me right now," Kariena said. "One day, I'll get it out of you."

With that, she stood up and started padding across the street. She wore a strange kind of canvas shoe that laced on top. He hadn't seen them before, but they made her movements almost eerily silent as she reached the building, and then began to circle around the side. She looked up as she did, pacing until she reached a spot where she felt she could climb. The short little witch turned back to Hans and gave him a thumbs-up and a goofy sort of grin before jumping up and grasping a metal bracket that held a storm drain to the side of the building. With a feline grace, she quickly scaled the side of the building.

Hans waited for her to reach the fifth floor, where she fearlessly swung herself onto a windowsill and sat, turning down to glance at him again. Kariena might have been skilled at pushing Hans's buttons, but he couldn't argue with her talent.

Hans found his hand straying towards his waist as he approached the building, and was reminded that he wasn't wearing any guns – at least, he wasn't openly carrying. It felt odd to be without weapons as he walked into what was so obviously a trap. Actually, he felt moderately insulted to not be thought more clever than this.

Then again, perhaps the Cult of Entropy assumed that Hans was out of options, and that he had no choice but to take the bait. They were sort of right about that; at the very least, he was impatient to be doing something meaningful again, instead of hiding in decrepit alleyways across the city. Hans absently wondered if he was overestimating his own abilities as he climbed the four steps to the apartment's doorway and let himself inside.

There was a little desk, at which an old, fat man slept. He had a low crusher hat pulled over his eyes, and was snoring loudly. Hans walked past a long line of mail boxes, noting that several were packed full of weeks of unclaimed newspapers. That implied either sudden changes of address among the tenants, or perhaps something more sinister.

Hans opened a steel door and stepped into a switchback stairwell that ran the outside of the building. A rusted sign affixed by screws to the wall read _PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE REFUSE IN THE STAIRWELLS._ He mused that it hadn't been well-heeded; he had to step over a pile of old clothes to make his way up. Hans's hand strayed to one of his under-the-shoulder holsters as he climbed, causing him to wonder whether he should just drop the pretense and have his guns at the ready.

He reached the fifth floor and opened the door that would let him into the landing, deliberately knocking into the doorframe to create a signal for Kariena. She'd know, now, that he'd gone in.

Hans stepped into a narrow hallway, with doors along the opposite side, and a bend perhaps twenty feet down. Right in front of him was a faded number 12 painted onto a wooden door, his destination. He glanced up and down the hallway. It was bare; there was nowhere for someone to hide that wasn't in one of the other rooms. He followed the chamber for a moment and glanced around the bend, seeing much the same. He'd have liked to do some sort of sweep of the other rooms before heading into his meeting, but if this _was_ a trap, that would probably be what Eveline McFay was expecting him to do.

He'd have to trust Kariena and his own powers on this one. Hans almost reflexively slowed time as he approached the twelve again, his anticipation forming an unpleasant knot in his stomach. He was good at facing danger head-on; it was uncertainty that really made his eye twitch.

Hans knocked on the door.

Several moments passed before there was a response. Then, the door slowly opened. Hans stepped over the threshold and glanced around, not as surprised as he might once have been to find that no person had done the opening. The apartment was small; from what he could gather, it wasn't really much more than this hallway, a little kitchen, and a bedroom. It was dark, however, and he couldn't make out much from this vantage point.

The former prince could make out an irregular shape in the kitchen as he approached; as the figure became more clear, so too did a constricting weight, felt through the chest. Hans slowly slid one of his colts from its shoulder holster and held it, two-handed, beside his head as he stepped into the little kitchen.

Eveline McFay hung from the ceiling, body motionless and broken at the neck from the end of a rope. Hans's face remained impassive as his eyes ranged around the little room, quickly moving so that his back was guarded by a wall.

 _The man at the desk was acting far too casually for this woman's death to be known,_ Hans thought. _This is a fresh murder._

"Quite deductive, my friend," a deep and powerful voice said, emanating from down the hallway.

Hans trained his pistol on the entryway, narrowing his eyes as Everdark stepped into the chamber. The great and terrible monster seemed almost comically large within the little apartment, great wings tucked over its back to fit. They ruffled as he walked, powerful muscles rippling along his body.

Everdark glanced down at Hans's gun, and sighed. "Come now, Hans, when will we finally abandon those uncivilized relics? You _are_ the weapon, my friend. Using something so needlessly messy demeans yourself."

Everdark's cruel beak twisted into an approximation of a smile. "Besides, I do think that I've earned a more respectful welcome, don't you?"

Hans slowly lowered the gun. He knew the script by now; Everdark could not manifest in this world any more than Hades could. At least, not yet. This was some sort of illusion.

"Why did you kill her?" Hans said, motioning towards the hanging body.

"I'm almost afraid to lower your opinion of my abilities, Hans, but I didn't," Everdark said. "That woman's death was a rather unfortunate bit of zealotry from some of my less useful servants. They assume that serving the mission of entropy requires a commitment to destruction at all times."

Everdark paced half the little kitchen, and laid a hand across the dead woman's cheek. It practically caressed her. "They do not have the mind to see that chaos is most damaging when it is… unpredicted."

"This was a trap, then," Hans said, looking around, expecting to see the Cult of Entropy charging into the tiny chamber any second now.

"Well, I have a high enough opinion of you not to call it a trap," Everdark said. "Doing so would imply that I expected you to 'fall for it,' as they say. No, I would rather say that this is something of an… _exhibition._ "

"You're here to watch," Hans said.

"Exactly," Everdark replied. "I still like to think that one day you and I might be working together, dear Hans, and I want to be sure that I know how best to make use of your considerable skills when that day comes."

Everdark slowly began to discorporate, shadowy trails of dark smoke pluming from the ends of its wings, from it feathered mane and its body. It turned to fix an eye on Hans.

"I must warn you, however, that Senator Wright seems to have an accurate understanding of the danger that you and that friend of yours on the windowsill can really pose to our plans. He's prepared quite the force to face you, and he thinks that you will be bested."

Everdark smiled.

"Prove him wrong."

xxx

At that moment, the door to the apartment burst inwards, and the kitchen flooded with men.

Hans moved on instinct. He rolled behind the table and flipped it from underneath; the wooden disk tumbled through the air for a moment before being _stuck_ by something on the other side. The table cracked straight along the middle and split in half, a hugely muscular man holding two hammers vaulting through the divide.

Hans tracked four other men through his peripheral vision as he ducked underneath one of the man's hammers and stepped around the other, speeding himself just a bit to protect himself. He stepped right past the brute and then ducked backwards, landing back-to-back with him and twisting as the other man did, staying out of his reach. At the same time Hans drew his pistol and unloaded the full chamber blindly into the other half of the room, buying himself some time as the other men scattered.

Hans had recognized one, however, from a few weeks ago at Kingsford Hall. Red band, the man who'd been able to warp time around a certain area and freeze people in place. Hans couldn't be sure if the man was using his powers or not, nor even how they worked, exactly. So much of trying to read other wizards' powers was a guessing game. For all he knew, Kariena was stuck in time just outside the window.

Hans grasped for his belt knife, but at the same moment the brute let go of one of his hammers, caught it near the head, and rammed backwards with the wooden pommel, crunching into the soft part of Hans's side. He hit the ground and gasped, and then sped up, rolling to side as the brute's other hammer slowly crushed the floorboards where he'd been just a moment before. Hans picked himself up just as time returned to normal, far sooner than he'd wanted. Getting injured sometimes broke his concentration.

He managed to get his belt knife free just as one of the four stepped into the kitchen and raised his arms. Hans tumbled laterally through the air over the brute's arm, ramming his knife into the man's shoulder from behind as he did, just as the wizard who'd stepped into the room threw a bolt of stone into opposite wall. Hans landed and threw himself behind the brute as stone shrapnel shredded the huge man, eliciting a roar of pain. The brute fell to one knee.

Hans twisted himself to his feet and caught the hilt of one of the man's hammers, planting one of his feet on the man's crouching knee and twisting himself through the air, retrieving his knife as he passed over the brute and ramming it into the back of his head. The hammers hit the ground abruptly.

Hans sped up as he crossed the distance to the geomancer, abruptly returning to normal just as he reached him. _This isn't going well,_ Hans thought. Often, he could maintain his supernatural speed for periods of up to seven or eight seconds at a time; just now had been maybe a quarter-second. Something was wrong.

Hans punched the geomancer in the stomach, catching the man's response on his forearm and headbutting him, seeing stars for a moment but pushing the man back into the wall and coordinating a knee-and-elbow to flip the geomancer to the ground. Hans twisted to punch the man but had to roll out of the way of an attack from his left. Hans came up in a crouch and backpedaled from a glimmering sword of light as a psion advanced on him.

Absently, Hans thought that it was certainly lucky that he was able to fight these men in a space as confined as this apartment; it forced them to engage him in ones and twos rather than all at once.

He fumbled with his second shoulder holster as he stepped back into the hallway before the door, earning himself a bit of cover as he managed to get the gun out and roll the chamber. _Click._ A geomancer, a psion, whatever the hell red band was, and… someone else.

Someone who was able to make Hans's powers weaker?

His momentary reprise was shattered as the psion leapt into the hallway, a gigantic shield filling the width of the chamber and studded with spikes on the front. He began to charge towards Hans. The chamber was only four or so feet wide, so Hans jumped up and to the side, planting a foot on one wall and leaping towards the other, jumping between them to scale up to the roof. Just as the psion started to twist his shield, Hans leapt over him, passing an inch or so over the spines of light and splaying his legs as he landed to lessen the impact. He tried to keep hold of his pistol, but it skittered away to the side. He'd have to do this the ugly way.

The former prince leapt up and threw a hand around the psion from behind, twisting them both around towards the kitchen, where the psion's shield intercepted a few more stone spikes thrown by the geomancer. The psion struggled mightily against Hans's grip, giving the former prince a run for his money. It was common for psions to be paragons of martial fitness, given their proclivity to master all sorts of different weapons. The wizard now dismissed his shield and summoned a knife, held backwards in his hand and tried to stab at Hans with it, but he'd expected this.

Hans let go of the psion and slid backwards just so, letting the man stumble slightly from his sudden unbalance. Hans fluidly scooped a triangular shard of stone from the ground and dashed inwards, slashing the scion across the chest with his impromptu blade. The wizard instinctively summoned a shield before himself again, but this time it was too hastily made to fill the width of the hallway. Hans threw his back to the wall and rammed upwards with his stone knife. It entered the psion's skull from just above the brain stem, killing him instantly.

A massive, bludgeoning force rammed into Hans, throwing him against the wall and breaking his left arm like brittle wood. He hit the floor and scrambled for safety, dodging another blast of stone and hissing as his back was lacerated by the shrapnel. _Hell._

Hans managed to fumble his right hand onto his pistol and turn around, firing all six bullets back into the apartment. He shot wildly, hitting mostly the wall between the kitchen and the bedroom, but one bullet came close to hitting the geomancer. Hans thought he heard a cry of pain, but he didn't have time to see what had happened. He dodged back through the hallway and threw open the door. Hans stumbled through, his left arm screaming with pain as he put some distance between himself and the geomancer. He tried to keep his steps silent, because he knew full well that the wizard could just start breaking down the walls if he knew where Hans was.

Hell, he might start trying anyway.

Hans wished he had some sort of weapon.

Hell, he wished that Kariena could come save him again. Was that too much to ask for?

Until he dealt with red band, it probably was. It certainly wasn't helping him that the other wizard was running some sort of interference, as well.

 _It was a common tactic,_ Lady Blackheart's voice sounded in his mind, _during the Elder Days, when enough wizards existed that armies could field them in numbers, to craft parties that each contribute something significant to their shared success. You put the squishy ones behind the fellows who can crush rocks with their bare hands._

The wall to Hans's immediate right exploded inwards, and he fell to the ground from the force. He stood up, raggedly, only to have the same thing happen on his left. The whole building was being ripped away from the force of the geomancer's will, and he was next in the crosshairs. Hans was dripping blood onto the ground from a dozen different wounds, many of them likely serious. He couldn't use his powers, he didn't have any weapons, and Kariena couldn't help him.

He was really going to die.

He'd done pretty well, all things considered. He'd killed two wizards with practically his bare hands.

Then…

The next attack didn't come.

Hans realized that he'd been slumped against the wall, dazed and bleeding, for a few full seconds before he became aware that he was still alive. He stood up and forced himself to walk, stumbling through the wrecked wall back into apartment number twelve. He saw the geomancer lying on the ground unconscious and bound, Kariena standing over him and panting with exertion. She turned to see Hans and gaped.

"Oh my god, are you all right?"

"What the hell happened?" Hans said raggedly. He stumbled past the geomancer and into the bedroom, and saw red band lying dead on the ground, a bullet hole in the side of his head. The last wizard, the one who'd probably been controlling Hans's powers, was also unconscious. Hans had gathered by now that Kariena didn't kill unless she had to. It was a noble goal, but one that he didn't consider particularly realistic.

"I'm not sure," Kariena said, stepping into the room and fretting about Hans, gingerly probing at some of the gashes on his back. "You tell me. I was sitting out there for quite some time with nothing happening, and then all of a sudden all hell breaks loose, and I teleport inside, and three guys are already dead, and you're gone.

"I just took out the last two."

Hans slumped against the wall, starting to feel a bit lightheaded. "I got lucky," Hans replied. "This dead wizard is the same one from Kingsford Hall. He'd frozen you outside the room, and they had me beaten. I couldn't even get near him. I emptied a pistol into the room at random and… I don't know. I got him through the wall, I guess."

Kariena looked down, and then looked back at Hans. "Well, sometimes all you can really do is give yourself the opportunity to get lucky, and then see how the chips fall."

"We screwed this up, Kariena. I screwed this up. I'm not ready for this shit yet."

Kariena's face grew more worried. "Know what, Hans, we can debate that some other time. Right now, we need to get you to a doctor."

Hans nodded absently, then stopped. He shook his head. "We can't. Senator Wright will have a back up plan, in case things went wrong here. He'll be watching hospitals."

Kariena's face implied that she didn't care much at the moment. "We'll figure it out as we go, Hans. You're going to die from blood loss long before the Cult of Entropy can get you."

She threw an arm around Hans and drew his around her shoulder, and they began their flight from Eveline McFay's apartment.

Hans slowed to a shuddering stop.

"Hans?"

"We didn't learn anything."

"Hans, we need to go."

"If we leave them alive, we'll just have to fight them another day," Hans said.

"And next time, we'll be ready. We need to go, Hans."

Hans knew she was right. But they hadn't learned anything. They were no closer to defeating Senator Wright, to banishing the Cult of Entropy from New York City. They were a day older and plenty of blood shed, but they hadn't gotten anywhere.

Hans wanted to scream.

Slowly, he started up again, and they left this killing field.


	20. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

 _The eagle replied, 'You are correct, oh mighty one. You are the true lord of the skies. But I presume you do not point this out merely to insult me, yet I hope not to be connived by the riddle of a wiser being. What do you wish of me?'_

* * *

Oslo,

Norway

July 10th, 1843

Strong headwinds had let Elsa and Odette make good time; their little schooner sailed into the Christiana port in Oslo on the evening of the second day from their outset. Norway's capital was a bustling trade city not unlike Arendelle, set at the edge of a magnificent fjord and fenced by a boundary of active wharfs. A forest of masts rose from the harbor, limp flags of a dozen countries flapping listlessly in a light breeze overhead. Dusk had fallen, and the city proper twinkled the lights of hundreds of gas lanterns. Elsa thought the skyline beautiful, though now wasn't the time for tourism.

"I think that we're rushing, Elsa," Odette said softly. They both stood at the prow of the ship, Odette jamming her hands into the pockets of her cloak against the chill. Summertime didn't bring as much warmth this far north. "I keep thinking that if I were playing Everdark's hand, this is exactly what I would try to do. Get you to engage on its terms."

Elsa held her ancestral locket in one hand, thumb absently stroking the dark gemstone. It always felt cold to the touch. Elsa knew that Odette didn't like it when she carried the locket around; it made her uncomfortable. But it was Elsa's only link to the past. Her only way to gain insight from the one who'd tread this path before.

"Yeah," Elsa agreed absently.

Their boat came to a halt, and its crew threw anchor and began tying off the sails.

"That's not the reassurance I was looking for," Odette said, taking her glasses off and wiping them on a sleeve. The air was humid, and they'd gotten cloudy. She slid them back on and started walking with Elsa to the gangplank, which a few burly men were sliding into place.

Both of the young women wore traveler's cloaks and deliberately inconspicuous clothing, but it was unlikely to matter much. Cultists of Entropy would recognize them anyway, Elsa sensed, and people her were unlikely to recognize her by face. As they started down the ramp to the dock, Elsa glanced over her shoulder at Odette.

"I don't know if we have any other option, Odette. I was willing to jam my head in the sand and pretend that if I just stayed in Arendelle, the end of the world wouldn't come for us. That didn't work out, and I'm not going to throw any more lives away by sitting in the corner while a game's being played at the table. Perhaps we've been dealt a bad hand, but I'm going to see it through to the end."

They left the captain of the ship to deal with the port authority and continued on into the city. The preponderance of gas lamps lent Oslo a more vivid night life than Arendelle; Elsa's treasury had been tied up building schools rather than modernizing streets. There were still people about, especially near bars, as they set out. Odette didn't know where they were going, but she assumed that Elsa had a plan.

"That's a rather oblique combination of metaphors," Odette said, intending for it to be a jest, but wincing as she finished because her tone had made it sound more combative. She was on edge, and it was seeping into her voice.

Elsa glanced at Odette and saw her worry. "It's okay to be afraid, Odette."

"Where are we going?" Odette said, glancing to the side as a particularly loud shout came from a nearby bar. The hearing in her right ear had returned just fine, but the doctors had informed her that she'd probably always be partially deaf in the left, from now on.

They'd also told her that she was lucky that she'd even survived. The surgeons had pointed out that everyone around Odette had died from some combination of burns, shrapnel, and pure concussive force. How she hadn't succumbed to some combination of these was anyone's guess.

Truth be told, she didn't actually remember healing herself at any point after the explosions in Condorcet Square had started, but Elsa told her that sometimes things just happened by instinct. The former queen had saved herself a number of times from a well-aimed bullet by conjuring a wall of ice from thin air, faster than any human could react. Odette accepted that, because it let her push down the nagging sensation that she should be trying to train with her powers.

It was far easier to just pretend that she was still normal, that she wasn't indirectly responsible for deaths around her.

"That's a good question," Elsa replied, turning them down a side street that took them into a decidedly more ragged part of town. Here there were less lamps, and some of them were broken. It wasn't exactly a slum, but it was a place of disrepute. A man stumbled towards them and yelled something in Norwegian. Odette flinched and stepped closer to Elsa, but the man swayed to a stop and slumped against the curb, dizzy.

"The Cult of Entropy doesn't have the same foothold here that it did in Corona," Elsa said. "So it's not like we'll just be able to go knocking doors to find them."

"Right," Odette said, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the drunk man wasn't following them.

"But we also have something to offer that they can't turn away," Elsa said. She slowly drew the jet medallion from the pocket of her cloak and dangled it across her fingers, sliding her hood back and slipping it over her head. She reached back and pulled her braid through the chain, letting the pendant rest against her breast. Elsa drew her hood back on again and kept walking.

Odette glanced over, eyes straying down towards the amulet with a jumpy sense of anticipation. "Do you really think they'll be able to tell?"

Elsa glanced over her shoulder. Almost as if it were on cue, a shadowy figure slipped from an alleyway some distance back. "It seems they already have," Elsa said softly. "Follow my lead."

They turned onto another street, this one leading into a little square. It was arranged haphazardly, and a building had been constructed in the middle, belligerently denying that the space had been intended for a fountain or sculpture of some sort. They passed through the narrow street, the buildings overhanging the walks by several feet on the sides. A long cane, formed of ice, appeared in Elsa's hand and she swung it above them, catching a clothesline and pulling the thin twine from its bearings. She allowed the clothes to slide off to the ground and then wrapped the length of twine around one of her arms.

Odette raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment as their tail turned onto the street. Elsa mouthed _'I don't want to have to use magic to stop him if I need to.'_

They eventually came to a halt underneath the eaves of the little curio shop in the center of the square, and Odette could now see why Elsa had been looking for somewhere else to engage the tail. The center of this square was reasonably well-lit, from some functioning lamps, and had a route of escape in every direction. At the same time, it was unoccupied, so the tail was unlikely to throw away his pursuit by not daring to approach them.

Odette wished that she had brought some sort of weapon. She couldn't hit the side of a barn with the kind of concealed-carry pistol that she'd usually be given for protection, but it made her feel less exposed all the same. _Rationally speaking, those untrained with firearms are more likely to hurt themselves or a loved one than an assailant,_ some part of her mind parroted back to her.

 _Ah, what a sublime comfort knowledge is._

The shadowy man stepped into the square, allowing the light of the lanterns to slowly reveal himself to the pair. He was dressed in black robes edged with gold, and he clasped hands together that were crowned with many rings. He smiled, and one of his teeth glittered.

"I have been informed that you do not speak the language of my people, Elsa Siguror," the man said in Swedish.

Odette didn't understand a word he said, and she gulped. She spoke six languages, but none of them Scandinavian.

"I've had little need to learn it," Elsa replied, also in Swedish. "There was never a need to disintermediate Sweden in our trade."

In 1843, Norway obeyed Swedish sovereignty. Though it was still an independent state in most regards, it leaned on its eastern neighbor to set directions for trade. All the same, it was rather beside the point for Elsa to begin in such a way. She was trying to stall for time; she wanted to close distance with the man in case violence started.

Odette shifted uncomfortably, taking a few steps to the left and putting some distance between herself and Elsa. She might not be able to understand what they were saying, but she might as well prepare to fight one way or another. She slowly reached up towards her head and slid her hood back, drawing the pin out of her hair. Ever since that day in Whitehall prison, she'd worn the big pin. This one was about five inches long and about half an inch thick, made of polished black metal. She flipped it around in her hand to hold it point down.

"And yet you come here wearing not the crown of a monarch, but instead the cloak of an assassin." The man smiled, slowly. "So let's not waste our time talking about politics."

"Of course not," Elsa replied, annoyed that the man was wisely keeping his distance. "A young man and three companions committed an act of terror and unspeakable violence in Arendelle three days ago. The only perpetrator who survived identified himself as a member of the Cult of Entropy upon interrogation, though shortly afterward he died unexpectedly.

"Once before, now nine months ago, a member of your organization broke under interrogation and died shortly afterward. Reports indicate that the manner was the same. Foaming at the mouth, incoherent rambling, bodily convulsions. Let's put an end to the dying on both sides of this, shall we?"

"No doubt that young man informed you that he was recruited in Oslo, given your presence here," the man said with a glittering grin. "And as you are wont to do, you trusted that the fellow experienced some sort of near-death reformation. You imagined that you might be able to trust his word, that you could slip into our city unnoticed and uproot the leaders of our cult with a bit of old-fashioned sleuthing."  
Elsa felt a prickling sensation in the back of her neck.

"Uh, Elsa…" Odette murmured, causing the former queen to turn and see the square flooding from behind with no less than a dozen men wearing strange, matte-black armor and carrying long, ornate swords.

"You've really got to learn, Elsa," the man chuckled, "When you've been outplayed."

The swordsmen let out a unified roar, and they charged into battle.

xxx

Elsa threw her right hand to the side and, with a puff of frigid air, a glittering sword fell into it. With her left she spun a ring of ice around herself and Odette, and the pair formed up back-to-back in the center. Elsa sent the wave roiling out towards the advancing swordsmen, and it grew in height and intensity as it ran, spikes several feet long forming at the ends.

Half of the swordsmen returned their swords to their scabbards and ducked towards their nearest companions, forming a step with their hands. The others boosted up and over the top of the ice wave, several flipping in midair before landing and brandishing towards the girls with their katana-like blades. Their assisters fell backwards from the wave, avoiding its deadly crest along with their apparent master; the Priest of Entropy began to shout orders in Norwegian from the edge of the square.

The swordsmen moved with an eerie synchronicity to their movements that made them seem like parts of some larger whole. The six inside the ring came for them at once.

Odette ducked out of the way as Elsa parried two blades at once, twisting her arm to shove them away and cast several bolts of ice towards the swordsmen from the other direction, who scattered momentarily before forming up again. One charged towards Odette, raising his sword overhead with both hands.

She gulped, feeling ridiculously incompetent among this field of combatants. Time seemed to slow for her as the man advanced; the space between her heartbeats stretched out as she heard the clang of blades that marked Elsa's struggle with the others.

 _Play to your strengths,_ a voice seemed to say to her.

Odette saw, as the man approached her, that his plate armor had a seam near the eyes in the helmet to see through. The only weakness in the otherwise formidable armament. It sure would be unfortunate if someone jabbed a hairpin through that eye slit.

Odette didn't even move as the man rammed his sword into her. Her eyes widened as she felt the edge run through her other side, but she stood in one place. The swordsman seemed to hesitate as they came within two feet of each other. Odette rammed her hairpin through the man's visor, and blood exploded out onto her hand. Immediately, the force holding the blade relaxed as the man tumbled to the ground.

Starting to feel dizzy, Odette drew the blade from her stomach, feeling a surge of revulsion when she saw the dark sheen of her own blood coating it. Already, however, a ticklish warmth was spreading through her core, knitting the rend in her flesh back together again. _Conceal it, don't feel it._

Odette twisted the blade around and considered it for only a heartbeat before instead drawing a knife from the fallen swordsman's belt. The blade was too heavy and too long for her to swing accurately. She whipped back around and dove into the fight again.

Elsa stumbled backwards from and advancing series of blows, raining in quick succession from four men all trying to approach from the front. Instinctively she ducked to the side and narrowly avoided being run through from behind. Elsa made the ground beneath her feet slick with ice and fell into a split, leaning back as she spun on the ground to pass mere inches beneath a lateral swing. She rolled backwards into a low crouch, her sword dismissing as she did, only to re-form in her outstretched hand just in time to intercept a blow from her left.

She was moving in a circle throughout the square, desperately trying to postpone the moment where she'd be hemmed in on all sides. She didn't have much time left.

Elsa had over ten years of formal training with the blade from her upbringing, the traditional sort of fencing with an epee that befit any self-respecting monarch. Agnarr had insisted on it for her. That translated to a thorough finesse with one-on-one duels, and a practiced form. Of course, thing like that started to matter very little when one had odds like these.

One of the swordsmen made a risky attack, exposing his left side for too long while he came in for a swing. Elsa shot a bolt of ice into his armpit that passed through his arm and kept going straight through his head. The corpse twisted awkwardly through the air for a moment before it collapsed onto the ground. Elsa caught another swing on her blade before a third traced her back, drawing a thin but painful cut.

Elsa slid backwards again, hissing with pain and trying not to let her vision blur. Odette was suddenly beside her, intercepting a blade to the side that almost chopped her in half. For a moment, Elsa's eyes widened, and she froze.

Then Odette wrapped her arm around the swordsman's neck, pulling his head close and stabbing him twice through the visor with a long, thin knife. The man let out a gurgling scream as Odette shoved him away, body rapidly reknitting itself. Elsa realized that they'd fled to the edge of the square, their backs against a small cobbler's shop.

"I can't do this much longer," Odette said, her face beleaguered, her voice ragged.

"Neither can I," Elsa said as she threw another wave of ice towards the men, startled by how much of her energy it seemed to take. "But I _have_ to. I'm supposed to be the Protector."

The Words…. she didn't know the words. There were too many swordsmen left, already past her ineffective attack and rushing towards them. Maybe if she knew the rest of the words. Elsa glanced to her left, and then to her right, realizing that the attackers were already spreading towards the streets to either side of the building, taking away their routes of escape. A moment of shocking clarity had come with the first of the oaths.

Perhaps… perhaps a moment of indomitable strength would come with the next. A pair of the swordsmen dove towards Elsa, and she had to pass her blade of ice to her left hand to intercept the attacks. The moment it caught the blades, her sword shattered, and the attacks kept coming. Perhaps… perhaps she needed a stronger weapon.

 _I will be strong for those who are weak._

Rimeheart formed in her right hand. The sword of the Protector, given a new name and a new finish, for a new wielder. The blade was five feet long with a wide crossguard, congealed with icy veins along the blade and glowing with a cold, fiercely white brilliance. Rimeheart hadn't had the pleasure of destroying evil in almost four thousand years, and it was eager to make up for lost time.

Elsa felt a surge of power unlike anything she'd felt before.

The former queen twisted out of the path of the double strike and rammed Rimeheart through both of the swordsmen's heads, skewering them with a single stroke. As her sword passed through the nearest man's head a peal of thunder exploded through the square, a shockwave of frost rippling outwards in its wake. Elsa leapt and spun in midair as she withdrew her blade from the corpses, frozen solid and coated with ice.

She swept her blade _through_ the swords of three more attackers, Rimeheart cutting apart tempered steel as if it were butter. Elsa landed and adjusted her stance, moving through a series of broad, powerful sweeps around herself that cleared the ground and left it scoured with deep, icy grooves.

Odette stood with her back pressed against the front of the cobbler's shop, mouth agape with shock as she witnessed the force of nature that Elsa had become sweeping through the master swordsmen like playthings. Within moments they were frozen where they stood, icy holes burning in the places that their armor lay ruined to expose the destroyed flesh beyond.

Elsa ducked from one victim to cut the last man in half with a broad, backhanded sweep that left his torso to stop midflight, a gout of frozen blood connecting it to where his legs stilled below. She twisted her left wrist and a rapid casing of ice formed around the priest of entropy as he turned to flee, stopping him mid-stride.

"You're not the leader," Elsa said. It wasn't a question. "You're not even a wizard."

Odette noticed for the first time that the back of Elsa's cloak was dark with blood. Whatever power she'd suddenly found, it hadn't healed her. Odette gasped and rushed towards the former queen, who smiled, but shrugged away ministrations for a moment.

"Where are they?" Elsa said, stopping in front of the frozen priest and looking him up and down.

The man's face was contorted with the fear of someone who gazed into the mask of death itself. Perhaps he was.

Elsa leaned towards the man and slowly brushed the tips of her left hand against the side of his face, leaving little trails of bitterly cold frost in their wake. He whimpered with fear.

"Where are they?" She repeated.

"T-they've left," he said in a rush. "Most of the leaders have, everywhere around the world. They're being summoned to New York City, in America."

"Why?" Elsa asked, her voice whisper-soft. Her eyes flickered back and forth, studying the man, trying to judge his sincerity.

"T-there's a special wizard there, one who's going to let them enter the underworld. I-I don't know anything more. I swear to God, they wouldn't tell anything else to someone like me."

 _The underworld?_ Elsa shot a glance towards Odette. The girl looked shell-shocked, like she wasn't really listening to the interrogation.

"How can I be sure that you're telling the truth?" Elsa said, placing one thumb against the man's forehead. It was cold enough to cause pain.

"Please!" The man shouted, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Please, I'm telling the truth! I don't want to die! None of us do! That's why we join in the first place!"

Elsa frowned. "I believe you," she finally said, removing her thumb.

The man sighed with obvious relief.

"A few months ago," she said, "I would have killed you, as recompense for what you and your cult did to my people. I might have done that today, if I were in a different mood. But today, I'll settle with making you go on living with a complete understanding of the pain that your cowardice has brought to many innocent people."

Elsa leaned close to the man, her very breath a brutal chill. "May you find solace in the knowledge that better people than you are willing to stand when others fall."

She turned and began to walk from the square. Odette hazarded another glance towards the carnage that they had left behind; an entire battlefield of corpses that could have been sculptures, frozen in place such as they were. Then she turned and hurried after Elsa, back towards the port. From there they would buy passage upon the next ship headed to New York City.


	21. Chapter Eighteen

Author's Note:

Many apologies for missing the upload last week! I've been caught up with midterms, and writing had to take a backseat to (unfortunately) more important things. We're back on schedule now, though, thanks for sticking with us :)

xxx

Chapter Eighteen

' _I speak no riddle,' quoth the Moon. "But I do ask of you a favor. I must trade places with you, my friend, for I have need to spend a day underneath the beautiful sun's rays. In return, you will see further and wider than ever before.'_

 _The eagle considered for some time, but he was intrigued by the clever moon's deal. 'I cannot refuse such an opportunity, oh mighty one. I accept your offer.'_

* * *

Olympia,

The Southern Isles

August 12th, 1830

Hans stood perfectly still, eyes closed and hands to his sides. The subtle tones of nature proved cloying distractions as he tried to focus his hearing on the footsteps of his master. The young prince, not yet sixteen, had now spent a third of a year training with the grizzled veteran Dhurstrom Kess, and it was paying dividends.

His body, just months before the frail, awkward frame of a boy, had developed into the lean musculature of a man. His mind was sharper, his reflexes faster. Not only could he throw a punch, he could take one now, too.

But best of all was the impact Kess's mentoring had on Hans's anger. Before, it had threatened to consume him. It had pushed Hans to the edge, driving him to do foolish things and get himself hurt. He was angry because his father was abusive to his mother, angry because his brothers were abusive to him. He was angry because the silver spoon he was born with didn't make him any less powerless.

Hans was still angry, of course. He'd learned by now that the feeling was as much a part of him as the heart beating in his chest. But for the first time, he felt like he controlled it as much as it controlled him. In time, perhaps it wouldn't have any sway at all, any more.

Then again, a little anger just reminded Hans what was worth fighting for.

Hans heard a branch crackle some distance away, and his mind snapped back to attention. He felt embarrassed for letting his focus slip away. The noise certainly wouldn't have been Kess. The man was far too crafty to let his position be given away by a fallen branch. But Hans redoubled his efforts, straining his mortal hearing to its limits.

After a few moments, he felt a prickle on the back of his neck, and instinctively opened his eyes. Kess stood directly in front of him. Before Hans had time to react, his mentor rammed into him, getting his arms around Hans and throwing him to the ground. Hans squirmed against his mentor's viselike grip, winded and gasping for air. Already he'd bungled this; the young prince could think of a dozen different ways he could have fallen that would have helped him escape his mentor's grapple, but he'd been caught flat-footed.

Hans might have been getting better at this, but he had a long way to go yet.

The young prince desperately flailed his limbs even as Kess pinned him completely; in a few moments Hans couldn't move at all.

"I tap out," he said in a muffled voice, his face pressed into the dirt.

Immediately Kess released him and extended a hand, and Hans grasped it, letting himself be pulled up from the ground.

"That was fine, Hans," Kess said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Really. It's almost impossible to survive a fight that you start blind for more than a few seconds. At least you made me work for it."

"It was terrible," Hans said, brushing some dirt off of his clothing. "I should have given sideways, so that I didn't land on my back and wasn't immediately under you. Then I'd at least have had a chance to get you on your back. And no matter how we landed, I should have headbutted you. I wasn't thinking."

"Nobody's thinking in a struggle like that," Kess said, taking a few steps back and falling into a grappling stance, beckoning Hans to do the same. "After enough practice, however, you'll do it by instinct. That said, everything you said is true."

"So I'm not making progress," Hans said, following suit and beginning to pace sideways, keeping an eye on his mentor's feet as they slowly mimicked his movements.

Kess grunted, then came in for a strike, swinging his arms in from both directions to box Hans's ears. The young prince twisted both of his forearms upwards and caught the blows, wincing. It hurt, but he caught them nonetheless. He stepped forwards and _now_ tried to headbutt Kess, but his mentor was ready for it. The older man stepped backwards lightly and raised his arms defensively.

"You aren't making progress as fast as you'd like," Kess said. "You're impatient."

Hans dove forwards and threw a series of three quick punches at his master, each of which were caught easily. Kess twisted inwards and placed a foot beside one of Hans's and then rammed a hand into the young prince's shoulder, throwing him to the ground. Hans immediately twisted as he rose to his feet, entangling his legs with his master's and sending Kess to the ground. Hans put some distance between them and took a few deep breaths.

"I'm ambitious," he said, rushing Kess again and launching into a series of alternating, precise blows.

Kess maneuvered expertly through the barrage, letting the unimportant hits land as he got close. The older man at last caught one of Hans's wrists and twisted it painfully, sending Hans to his knees. The young prince hissed, refusing to admit pain or defeat.

"You're reckless," Kess said. "Every time that I think you've gotten closer to mastering the darkness inside yourself, you prove yourself just as rash and impulsive as before."

Kess released Hans's wrist, and the boy drew it back towards his chest instinctively, refusing to cradle It even though it throbbed. He stood again and leveled his chin defiantly, refusing to feel chagrined. His master's words stung.

Kess sighed. "I don't want you to think that I'm telling you to be emotionless, Hans. That's not it. But wearing your heart on your sleeve is a dangerous thing to do. People who understand your motivations and your desires understand _you._ Best not to give anyone that sort of control."

"If I had… more control," Hans said slowly, "would I have heard you approaching earlier?"  
"Perhaps," Kess replied. "Perhaps not." He clasped Hans's arm at the elbow, gripping it firmly. "We strive for control, Hans, for the sake of all parts of ourselves. Not merely the parts that fight."

Hans nodded, though he wasn't very satisfied with the answer. Kess, however, could tell.

"Never before I met you had I seen such a model soldier, Hans."

Hans smiled at the unexpected praise. "Thank you, sir."

"That wasn't a compliment," Kess growled. They began to walk, at Kess's indication, back through the little woodland. They were five minutes from the edge of the forest where they'd tethered their horses, and from their they were only a short ride from Olympia. "You, son, are the perfect caricature of everything a soldier is supposed to be. Young, capable, and eager for blood."

The older man cast a sidelong glance at Hans. "It's that last bit that worries me. War is hell, Hans. The first time that you have to take another man's life, it changes you. Everyone comes away damaged, but I just want to make sure that you crack in the right places."

"The right places?" Hans echoed, frowning.

"Someone like you can end up ruthless," Kess said quietly. "Someone like you can end up as a killer."

It was Hans's turn to cast a glance over at his mentor. "Sir?"

Kess had stopped walking and was now staring into the empty space before the horizon. After a few moments, he turned to Hans and it was like he saw him anew. Kess placed a hand on Hans's shoulder and smiled grimly.

"Don't lose everything, Hans."

xxx

Hans heard his own name through a dazed stupor. His mind was dredged from the depths of its own memory and his vision slowly focused on the forms of a pair of worried doctors leaning over him. Some time ago, they'd offered him a small wooden cylinder to bite on, for the pain. When he'd replied that he didn't need it, the doctors had regarded him with bemusement, but after it was clear that he was serious, they'd started their work.

Turns out, he'd been right. He didn't really feel a thing.

Kariena Tae leaned against the far wall of the hospital chamber, glancing back and forth between Hans, the window, and the door. She was alert, waiting for the slightest indication that the Cult of Entropy knew where they were. It was early in the morning on July 9th, just hours after Hans and Kariena had stormed Eveline McFay's apartment and found her murdered.

Kariena glanced over at one of the doctors as he turned towards her. She tried not to notice how bloody the man's gloves were. "We're going to be stitching some of these wounds shut now. If you get nauseous easily, you might want to step into the hallway beyond, ma'am."

Kariena silently shook her head, then turned back to the window. They were on the second floor of a four-story building that serviced some of the most damaged people in the city. It wouldn't take very long for Everdark's servants to find them here. Kariena was only just now beginning to wonder how many people she would be able to save if the Cult decided to just burn the hospital down.

Across the street, just below eye level, there was a gas lantern, lighting the roadway. It cast an eerily regular shadow against the building behind it, but Kariena kept expecting to see the shadow move. She kept thinking to herself that the shadow moving would be a signal of danger to come.

She was tired, of course. But she couldn't let herself leave Hans, and the doctors, and everyone else, really, go unprotected by letting herself doze off. Kariena hadn't much experience fighting against the kind of enemy to whom every life was expendable, and nothing was beyond the pale.

Some amount of time passed. Eventually, one of the doctors spoke to her again. "Alright. We've done everything that we can, for now. The best thing for him now is to let him rest until morning."

Kariena nodded, slowly.

They went on to explain that if she wanted stay with him, she could, and that if she did, she should squeeze water from a damp cloth into his mouth once every few hours to keep him hydrated. They tried to explain to her that it had something to do with blood regeneration, but she just nodded along. After a few more moments, they were gone.

Kariena crossed the distance to Hans's bed and sat down in the chair next to it. She'd thought he was unconscious, but once she did one of his eyes opened and turned to focus on her.

"I'm not a cripple, you know. I can take a goddamn drink of water on my own. Hell, my legs aren't even that bad, compared to the rest of my body. I could probably walk around."

He started to shift in his bed, and then slumped back down.

"Alright, look, I'm not going to do it just to prove a point, but let the record indicate that I was willing to, okay?"

Kariena smiled. "Gee, the only time you have a sense of humor is right after you lose half your blood, it seems. Maybe you should do this more often."

"Oh, let me tell you," Hans said, grimacing, "there's an exquisite sort of high that comes from running low on blood. You get this heady sensation that just makes you want to drift away. Really. Couldn't recommend it enough."

Kariena laughed lightly. "Alright, stop being a fool."

"I'm not sure that's as easy for me to do as you think, unfortunately," Hans said with a smirk. Then he gasped suddenly and prodded at his ribcage. "Seems I may have bruised up my ribs, as well. After enough times, I'd have thought they'd get tougher."

"Nah, you're a little bitch," Kariena said, brushing a bit of hair out of Hans's face. She ran the backs of her fingers along his chin, smiling softly. "Do you ever shave this beard?"

"Well," he replied, "When I was younger I used to keep mutton chops, if you can believe it. But I've found that the beard helps mask my ridiculously strong jawline. It helps make other men feel adequate."

Kariena laughed again. "Christ, Hans, this is an entirely different you. What happened Mr. Stoic Frownsalot?"

"Oh, he'll be back," Hans replied. "He's never too far away, really."

Kariena moved to sit on the side of the bed, looking down at Hans. The left side of his face was caked with dried blood.

"Well, I happen to like this Hans," she said as she reached over towards the basin, wet a cloth, and squeezed it out before patting the side of Hans's head with it. "Does this hurt?" She added softly.

He shook his head, indicating that she could continue. After a few moments of silence, he met her eyes. He was surprised to see something in them that he hadn't seen for nearly nine years. His words caught in his mouth for a beat.

"You're going to have to leave," he finally said.

"What are you talking about?" Kariena glanced away to the side.

"Before they come," Hans said. "There's going to be too many of them. You have to get out of here."

"Fine," Kariena said. "Then you'll be coming with me."

Hans frowned. "Look. I may have been putting on airs earlier when I described how easily I can move right now."

"You made it here alright," Kariena countered.

"You practically carried me here," Hans pointed out. "The kind of distance that you're going to need to put between yourself and this hospital is far greater than what you'd be able to make with me slung over your shoulder."

Hans could see that she was growing distressed, and he felt a pang of guilt. Then, he had a startling realization. For the first time since he'd been recalled to life by Hades almost one year ago, he felt the stakes. For the first time since he'd died the first time, he feared death once more. What had changed?

Maybe after all this time, he was starting to turn into a coward. Of course, that wouldn't be what Kess would have called it, but fighting scared was the kind of thing that _got_ you killed in the first place.

"Look," Hans said. "They're not going to kill me. At least, not immediately. I'm valuable to them. I'm not telling you to abandon me. I'm telling you that we both stand a better chance if you don't get captured."

Kariena continued to stare at the floor. He knew that she could see reason, that she agreed with him. She took a long, ragged breath.

"You're right."

Hans felt a wave of relief. "Alright, now get the hell out of here."

Kariena mechanically nodded, and then turned towards him. "If they do kill you?"

"If they're planning on killing us, then I'm even happier that you got out of here before they showed up."

"But what about you?" She asked.

"I'll make sure to have stunning last words." He smirked.

Kariena laughed once, then set her jaw and nodded. She continued to meet his eyes for a few more moments before she turned away.

"Good luck," she said.

"Try and alert the safehouses, too," Hans said. "You never know how long the arm of the enemy is."

Kariena turned and raised a hand before stepping towards the wall and disappearing through it, leaving wisps of swirling arcane energy in her wake.

Hans sighed and leaned back against the pillow. Now all he had to do was wait, he supposed.

xxx

He heard the shouting first downstairs. Doorways banged, and people shouted. He hoped that he didn't hear exclamations of pain. He was surprised and unhappy to find that he had to fight to keep his breathing even.

Fear was for the weak.

… Fear was for those with something to lose.

He heard them reach the second floor, and he heard them begin their sweeps of the nearby chambers. Hans slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, but he didn't try to reach for his pistols, which sat unloaded on a nearby table. He would be a fool to think that he was better defended with a single gun than he was unarmed. The shouting drew near.

It was almost a relief when his door finally burst open.


	22. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

 _Switch places the moon and the eagle did, for one full revolution of the sun. The moon waited with bated anticipation on the world's highest peak, but he found himself at a loss for words when her gentle beauty crested the horizon, coloring the sky pink with a warm glow._

 _When the moon beheld her face, he was unable, for a moment, to contain his joy. The sun was more beautiful than he could have imagined._

* * *

New York City,

New York

July 23rd, 1843

Fourteen days had passed since Hans's capture. Kariena sat at the edge of one of the dozens of piers that lined the city's considerable coastline, dangling her feet over the edge and staring at her murky reflection. A gray dawn was settling overhead, permuted by the squawking of gulls and the occasional ringing of a ship's bell. Never before had the city seemed so large to her.

One million people. Thousands of square miles of land, each and every one filled to the brim with places to disappear. She knew a great many of them, but not enough. Kariena had scoured the city, calling upon connections far and wide. She was too reckless to care if she was leaving a trail behind for bad people to find her; she'd lost someone dear to her, and come hell or high water, she was going to get him back.

Kariena glanced up and saw a big steamship approaching, chugging smoke into the air and trailing a monstrous wake. People were starting to fill up the dock around her, making preparations for the ship to land. A young man approached Kariena and knelt down beside her.

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, amigo, but you've gotta get back from the edge. Gonna be a whole swarm of folks comin' off that boat in a second."

Kariena nodded to him and started off, kicking at a pebble and watching it bounce across the boardwalk until it flopped over the edge. She never gave up on a friend. Never. When her fellow thief Rose got caught trying to rob a moneylender, she'd been sped through a corrupt court and sentenced to hang. That was just what happened to people who didn't matter, whom nobody loved.

Unfortunately for the conners, Rose wasn't unloved. It had taken nights of ceaseless toil, but Kariena had tracked her down and sprung her. She didn't leave people behind.

It was a lovely sentiment, but it didn't bring Kariena any closer to finding Hans.

She'd come to a stop at the edge of a little outdoor market set up to cater to sailors come into port; the stalls peddled exotic and tasty foods that would be hard to resist after weeks of nothing but gruel and salted meat at sea. A crowd of passengers from the big steam liner started to surge around her, heading into the city. Some of them broke off to stop at one stall or another, and some shot annoyed glances at her for clogging up the walkway.

Someone bumped into her from behind. "Oh! I'm sorry!"

Kariena turned and saw a young woman step backwards, pushing a pair of wire-frame glasses back up her nose. The large, circular lenses outlined deep brown eyes and a pretty face. Behind her approached a tall woman with silvery-blonde hair and an imperious gaze.

"It's no matter," Kariena said, stepping out of the way.

As the pair started to pass, the shorter brunette turned to her taller companion and said in a soft voice, "How on earth do you think we can find Hans in a city this _big?_ "

Kariena blinked twice, and then rushed after the pair. She caught a hold of the tall woman's arm, causing her to spin around. They met eyes, and for a moment Kariena wondered if she'd made some sort of mistake, if she'd misheard something. Then spoke in a jumbled rush.

"Who are you, and why are you looking for Hans Westergaard?"

The brunette glanced back and stopped, her lips pursing. She glanced toward her companion and much seemed to travel between them unspoken. The tall one turned her gaze back to Kariena, her face imperceptible.

"Perhaps we should find somewhere private to speak."

Minutes later, the trio had a table in a private room in the back of a reputable inn, and they were seated around a small wooden table. Kariena glanced first at one, and then at the other. They both seemed very European, though in different ways. The brunette was obviously French; it read loudly in her lyrical voice. The other one looked vaguely Scandinavian to Kariena, like some sort of beautiful and terrible Valkyrie warrior.

"I'm not in the business of giving away information first," the Valkyrie said to her. "So why don't you answer that question first. Who are _you,_ and why are you looking for Hans? How do you know him?"

"Well, that's actually several questions," Kariena said. The Valkyrie raised an eyebrow. "But neither of you look like my enemies, so, sure. I'm Kariena Tae. I'm an information thief who's lived in this city my entire life. I met Hans at a party I was trying to hit a mark at. It got raided by wizards, and he saved me."

To be fair, she'd done about half of the fighting on that first night, but she'd decided on the fly not to give away her own powers. At least, not yet. She couldn't be entirely certain that she could trust this pair.

"Since then, he let me in on the fight against Everdark. Fourteen days ago, he was injured during a fight, and I had to… I had to leave him behind. He got captured. I've been searching for him ever since."

The pair shared another glance. Kariena got the sense that they did that a lot. The Valkyrie turned and spoke.

"My name is Elsa Siguror. I was the Queen of Arendelle before I abdicated the position some weeks ago. I am a witch and an ally to Hans in his fight against Everdark. It is grave news indeed that Hans has been captured."

"And I'm Odette Marie Novare," the other girl said. "I… um… I'm a witch, too, I suppose. It's fairly new."

"We need to locate the center of the Cult of Entropy's operations here," Elsa said. "In doing so, hopefully we'll be able to recover Hans."

The matter-of-fact tone resonated with Kariena. Yes, this is what Hans would have done. He wouldn't have lost sight of the ultimate goal, no matter what happened.

"The Cult in this city is fronted by US Senator Silas Wright," Kariena said, nodding. "We'd been trying to locate his home before Hans was captured, but chances are that we telegraphed our motives too much. It seems like too much to hope for that Senator Wright is still staying anywhere obvious."

Elsa frowned. "I'm not surprised that Hans's plans started with finding the leader," she mused. "He always did seem to prefer trying to shut things down from the top. I'm starting to wonder how effective that strategy really is, though. Too often when we cut off the head, someone else just steps up to take the place."

"I…" Kariena's brow furrowed. "That sounds reasonable. But Hans did seem to want to try to assassinate the Senator. Maybe he had some sort of plan."

Odette's eyes widened. "Do you know if the Senator is a wizard?"

"Um… No, I don't," Kariena said. "I'd imagine that most important members of the Cult of Entropy are, though, aren't they?"  
"Yes," Odette said. She turned towards Elsa. "He knew that the Senator had something strong, and he was trying to cull it."

Hans, of course, wasn't a wizard by birth. He was implanted with a strange and dark instrument called a tensing disk; a thin whirl of obelisk that sat in his core and collected magic from the blood of the fallen. If he slew Silas Wright and took a sample of the man's blood, a tensing ritual would be able to give him the man's powers. Hans was looking to expand his arsenal, it seemed.

"What?" Kariena said. She hadn't known about Hans's disk, and had naturally assumed that his powers were gifted upon birth. She didn't have knowledge of any other way.

Elsa turned back to Kariena. "Hans may have been behaving somewhat rashly," she said. "He has the ability to take the powers of a wizard he's killed with a complex ritual. It seems that this is the reason he was after the Senator specifically."

Kariena shifted in her seat. "Well, what does that change? How are we going to find the Cult in this massive city? There's just too many places to hide."

Elsa clasped her hands together. "Well, if time wasn't an issue, I'd like to take things carefully. Poke around some places, ask some questions, and gather information. But Hans's life might be on the line, and we have our own reasons for being in a rush."

Kariena raised an eyebrow.

"Very soon, the Cult of Entropy is going to try to open a passage into the Underworld," Odette said. "We don't have one solid theory for why, but it's a safe bet to assume that we don't want it to happen. If we aren't able to find them, we won't be able to stop them."

Kariena laughed once, despite herself, and rubbed her eyes with the balls of her hands. "God, this all sounds so ridiculous. A month ago, I thought that the single most pressing issue in my life was where I was going to make my bed for the night."

"We've all had to take on some new responsibilities," Elsa agreed. "Unfortunately, we don't know much about the kind of complex rituals that could open a pathway to Hell in the first place. So… we're not working on much."

"For example," Odette added, "It sounds sort of reasonable that such a ritual would take place in a graveyard, right? Well, we're not sure. In our limited experience, it seems that children's fairy tales do indeed have some measure of descriptive accuracy in telling us what to expect from magic, but it's been wrapped up under layers of colloquialisms and morals."

"Okay," Kariena said, parsing their words. "You seem like you're building up to some other way of going about this."

Elsa nodded. "I have a way to summon the Cult. Directly."

She drew from within her traveling cloak a pendant hanging from a fine, glittering chain. The stone set into the amulet was a dark jet, inky and fathomless. Kariena felt a sudden tightness in her chest, as if there was a weight against it. An otherworldly chill began to spread through the chamber.

"This amulet belonged to my ancestors," Elsa said. "They were… worshippers of Everdark. It still possesses the Dark God's energy, and the Cult is drawn to it once I put it on."

Kariena tried not to scoot her chair away from the table, but _God,_ that thing was abhorrent.

"Okay, so is there a way to make that go the other way?" Kariena asked. "If you put it on, can you find _them?_ "

"I'm not sure," Elsa admitted. "I've tried, at length, to get it to do something like that, but if there is a way, it eludes me."

They were like children, stumbling around in a darkened chamber sometimes. It made Odette mourn to think of all the knowledge that had been lost in the millennia since magic had been an important field of scholarly research.

"So all we can reliably do is bring them to us, and get one of them talk."

Kariena glanced first at Elsa, and then at Odette. "Well, between the three of us, I think that we should be able to take a few Cultists, right?"  
"That's the problem," Odette fretted. "They'll only come for us if they're pretty sure that they can win."

Kariena looked between them. "You're still going to call them, aren't you?"  
Elsa nodded. "We figured that we should give you the opportunity to get as far away as you like, first."  
Kariena shook her head. "I don't leave my friends behind," she said. "I'll be with you when you find Hans or I'll die trying."

The pair nodded, and then stood. "Come on, then. We're not going to do it here," Odette said. "The barkeep didn't do anything to deserve getting their shop destroyed."

xxx

The three young women stood atop an abandoned three-story warehouse in the middle of a deteriorating slum. The little shantytown had sprung up in anticipation of rail lines being built into the city, but domestic planners had bigger plans than an above-ground rail for the metropolis. As preparations were made for an integrated subway system, the need for above-ground rails diminished rapidly, and soon all that was left in this little neighborhood was rust and beggars.

Wind whipped at Elsa's hair as she studied the grey horizon, sweeping her gaze to the east, where the bulk of the city lay, and then to the west, where seemingly endless fields of yellowing grass roamed. They were at the edge of the largest city in the world, standing atop a crumbled ruin of civilization's overreach. They were a long way from home.

Elsa glanced over her shoulder back at the others and called over the wind. It was probably going to rain soon.

"Are you ready?"

Odette nodded, holding two mid-size knives that they'd obtained for her. They would go well with her unique style of fighting. Kariena, on the other hand, was bare-handed, and lightly on the toes of her feet, bouncing back and forth with anticipation. Elsa had known from the start that the girl was a witch as well, but she still couldn't guess what her powers were. The former queen supposed that she'd find out soon. Kariena met her gaze and nodded.

Elsa raised the jet amulet above her head and slid it around her neck. All along the places the metal of the chain touched her skin, she felt a strange heat. It felt cold, in a way that she couldn't explain. The pendant itself seemed to thrum against her chest, begging to be let inside. Elsa didn't make it wait long.

Everdark was in her mind as soon as she let it. Elsa kept her thoughts closed to the Dark God, but made her location loud and clear. Let it see her here. Let it come. Let them all come.

The alien force roved about her mind, seeming to study her location with a voracious frenzy. Then it left in a rush, a horrid screeching left ringing in her ears. A shadow danced away towards the city, and Elsa let out a slow breath. She extended her hand to the side and Rimeheart materialized in it. She inadvertently smiled when she heard Kariena gasp.

 _I do not falter under watch of darkness._

Elsa was ready to stare death in the eye and challenge it to snuff out her brilliance.

 _I will be strong for those who are weak._

Interestingly, when Odette had been trying to decipher the Words of the Protector, she'd tried various platitudes like these. Elsa had tried repeating them, too, in case they needed to be spoken by the Protector themselves. It turned out that the Words were more than just the sentence themselves; they were also a state of _being._ The Words only gave Elsa power when she was ready to accept it.

Well, she was halfway there. Only two more lines to go, though she didn't feel any closer to deciphering them than she'd felt ready for the first or second. It no longer worried her, however. She was the Protector. It was only a matter of time before she mastered all of the Words.

"Elsa!" Odette's exclamation snapped her back to attention, and the former queen looked up to towards the city. A pair of dark blotches were rapidly approaching from the distance. They were _flying._

Elsa passed Rimeheart to her left hand and raised her right towards the approaching figures, waiting to line up a shot against one of them.

"Have you ever fought wizards that fly before?" Came Kariena's voice over the building gale.

"No!" Odette called back. "We've never even seen any before!"

Kariena's reply was lost to the winds. Swirls of frost materialized around Elsa's hand and a bolt of ice streaked though the air towards one of them. It passed harmlessly several feet to the wizard's left; the next overshot to the right.

Elsa backed up towards the others and gripped Rimeheart in both hands, twisting her form so that she stood partially sideways, the swords held vertically by her head with her elbows out in either direction. A balanced, protective stance, and one that fit her well.

In a headwind rush and amidst dark, billowing cloaks, the pair of wizards landed on the edge of the building. They each wore similar armor of matte-black to the swordsmen that Elsa and Odette had fought in Oslo, but they bore different weapons. One carried a spear with a sword's blade at the end instead of a regular tip, and the other had a full-length halberd. They were the kind of weapons that would be optimized while flying, yet still functional to a trained wielder in traditional combat.

Neither spoke a word as they quickly began to spread across the rooftop to flank the trio. There was to be no parley, it seemed.

"Be careful," Elsa said, trying unsuccessfully to keep them both in her field of view and eventually settling on halberd. "They can probably do more than fly."

A booming peal of thunder covered any response, and then the pair of enemies rushed them, taking to the skies as they did. Halberd thrust his weapon at Elsa from ten feet in the air; she turned it aside with her blade and cast a track of ice beneath herself, sweeping up into the air to meet her foe. She couldn't keep track of what was happening with the others and spear, but she had to hope that they would be alright.

Halberd seemed surprised as Elsa followed him into the air, and he swept backwards, spinning his massive weapon in a wide sweep before himself to clear space. Elsa couldn't follow him more than a couple dozen feet into the air; her powers would falter after a certain height, and though she was growing stronger and more controlled every day, there was a limit to how far she could go.

Best not to let halberd realize that. She surged forwards, past his defenses, and thrust Rimeheart towards him. The wizard twisted just barely enough to avoid the sword and spun downwards, gripping his halberd close and landing atop the roof again, thrusting it upwards towards Elsa. She flipped sideways off of the track and over the edge of his weapon, landing several feet away from him and throwing three bolts of ice in his direction.

An instant later, spear jetted across the space between them, away from Kariena, who was in pursuit. She jumped after him and _disappeared_ in a burst of energy, reappearing behind the wizard just in time to throw an arm around his neck. The pair shot off of the building, where spear started rapidly ascending, trying to force her off.

Elsa didn't have time to worry about what would happen if he managed to throw Kariena off from one hundred feet in the air. She dashed across the space towards halberd again, who was just about to take off when Odette took him from the side. She rammed one of knives into the armor beneath his arm and smashed the other against his helmet. That one didn't fare so well; whatever the armor was made of, it blunted the knife with a clang and shocked it out of Odette's hand. She stumbled backwards, clutching at her throbbing hand, just as halberd rammed the pole of his staff into the ground beside her and sent a rippling current of lightning down it.

The lightning was red, and aggressive, leaping from his weapon to Odette, who cried out in pain as she was electrocuted. Elsa tried not to let that shake her as she came in from the side and swung Rimeheart at the wizard. He'd seen her coming and twisted the haft of his weapon to intercept hers. They met with a jarring clang, and Elsa stumbled backwards, losing her balance.

She hadn't had much time to get used to fighting with Rimeheart yet, but one thing that had held pretty constant was Rimeheart's ability to cut through _anything._ Apparently, this was something different. The wizard passed his halberd to the other hand and sent a ball of lightning into Elsa's chest.

For a brief moment, Elsa couldn't see. Her vision had gone completely white, and all she could feel was horrible, searing, burning pain. Then it passed, and she found herself lying on the ground as halberd rammed the blade of his weapon down to her chest. She threw her arms up in front of herself and a wall of ice instinctively materialized there, splintering under the force of the blow. Elsa shoved the wall outwards to give herself some room to scramble away from the wizard. Gasping, Elsa surveyed the battlefield.

Odette lay in a crumpled heap near the edge of the roof, taking a blast of lightning from the wizard once every couple of seconds to keep her down. He'd realized that she could heal, but at least he could keep her occupied. What he probably also guessed was that she couldn't keep renewing herself forever.

Elsa summoned Rimeheart and moved to dash towards halberd again, but a scream stopped her in her tracks. Both she and the wizard across from her looked up to see spear floating at least one hundred feet above them, letting Kariena dangle by one hand from his grip. He let go of her.

Kariena started to tumble through the air, and desperately tried to teleport towards spear again. She materialized two feet to his left, and splayed her hand outwards towards him. The wizard rammed his spear into her chest, and then ripped it out, letting her tumble downwards in a spray of blood.

Elsa shot another glance towards halberd and then dashed to the side, summoning a track beneath herself and catching Odette's hand on the way past, dragging her onto the slick behind her. They raced towards Kariena as she fell, both of the wizards in pursuit.

Elsa twisted onto her back and held her hands out, catching Kariena's surprisingly light, crumpled form as they passed. Then the track hit the ground, a hundred feet to the side of the building, and they came to a rough halt.

Halberd and spear landed lightly ten or so feet away from them, ready to keep fighting. Elsa threw Odette and Kariena behind her and summoned a massive wall of ice, stretching dozens of feet in either direction and wrapping around to provide them cover from overhead. Then she slowly resummoned Rimeheart and looked between the two wizards.

 _This is to the death, then, isn't it?_

To her surprise, they spoke. She couldn't be quite sure, as their faceplates gave no clue, but it seemed that they both did at once, in an eerie unison.

"Surrender, Elsa. You cannot defeat the both of us, and there is no glory in dying in the attempt. It would be a shame to waste any magical blood."

Elsa glanced back and forth. She didn't like the idea of reuniting with Hans as mutual captives, but it was better than dying, she supposed. After a few more moments' consideration, she said, "You will allow Odette to heal herself and Kariena."

"Of course. The same reasoning holds. We do not wish to let any wizards die in such a foolish manner."

Elsa slowly nodded and dismissed Rimeheart. "Very well."


	23. Chapter Twenty

Author's Note:

Sometimes ends bring new beginnings.

xxx

Chapter Twenty

 _The moon spoke praises of the sun's beauty to try to woo her, but she did not reply. When the sun was high overhead and still had not responded, the moon began to grow desperate. He flew as high as the wings of an eagle would take him and entreated her, 'Oh, my sweet love, why do you spurn my affection?'_

 _The sun, who did not recognize the moon, simply laughed. 'You are but a bird, little one. You are unto me as a child is unto a mother. Do not speak of love to me.'_

 _The moon tried as he might but could not change her mind. When the sun finally set and the eagle returned wearing the guise of the moon, he said, 'I am sorry, Oh mighty one. He who wears the deceiver's face must be content only with trickery.'_

 _The moon was too morose to reply. He continued forever on with his nightly chase, desperate to one day again catch a glimpse of the one he loved. He runs and runs but never catches up._

 _Montaigne's Parables_

 _xxx_

 _It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known._

 _Sydney Carton,_

 _A Tale of Two Cities_

* * *

New York City,

New York

July 23rd, 1843

Hans lapsed back into consciousness and became aware of someone standing over him.

"Get up."

At first Hans considered refusing the order, but only for a moment. He slowly turned off of the small cot and placed his feet against the cool stone floor, drawing himself up to stand a bit taller than the shadowy figure before him. He'd let imprisonment break him before, and it had made him a coward and a fool. A man that Hans didn't want to become again.

"He's here to see you," the man said, before backing out of the small box of stone. Another figure traded him places, nodding his thanks to the guard, who took a position on the other side of the corridor. Then the new man un-shuttered a lantern and set it on a small wooden table between them both. Senator Silas Wright motioned for Hans to sit.

The Senator wasn't as old as Hans had imagined he'd be. Perhaps politics wasn't only a game for the landed elite in America, or perhaps this man was simply connected beyond his years. No matter the case, Hans took the offer and sat down, placing his hands on the table to keep them visible. They'd instructed him to do that, lest he seem as though he might be prepared to fight.

Hans really wished that he _was_ prepared to fight, but he simply wasn't in the condition to do so. Since his capture, he hadn't been given medical attention, and of his wounds from the fighting at Eveline McFay's apartment weren't healing properly. He was forced to use much of the water they rationed to him to clean his cuts, lest they fester. So in addition to the pangs of hunger and the throbs of pain, he was also growing more dehydrated by the hour. He had a splitting headache.

"You don't look well, Hans," Wright said with no small amount of satisfaction. It annoyed Hans.

"Why are you here." Hans said, not really inflecting it like a question. He wasn't sure if he cared.

"I believe that we have made ourselves quite clear on that matter, Hans," Wright said, clasping his hands together and smiling in a rather patronizing manner. "We need your help."

"Yes, and I'll extend you the courtesy of telling you to go fuck yourself," Hans said. He leaned inwards a bit. "That's the kind of personal touch I make sure to share with people. My mother always said it was one-of-a-kind."

If Silas Wright was annoyed by Hans's answer, he didn't show it.

"I believe that we've allowed you to suffer like a dog long enough to indicate that we have no qualms continuing to do so," Wright said. "On the other hand, I believe that we now have the ability to earn your cooperation far more easily."

Hans heard footsteps in the hallway. _Oh, no. I told her to run. I told her to hide._

Hans was familiar with the end to this story, and it was perhaps the only thing he feared.

A pair of guards approached, towing a small, crumpled figure between their arms. As they came into the lanternlight, Kariena Tae's face was starkly lit. Hans felt a painful twist in his gut as he noticed the dark stain of a bruise along her far cheek. He forced himself to turn back towards Wright.

"What the hell have you done to her?" Hans said, trying to keep his voice from sounding desperate.

"Nothing too permanent," Wright said, turning to consider Kariena's unconscious form. "At least, not yet."

One of the guards passed her completely to the other, who held her up as the first drew a knife from his belt and slipped it under her chin. Hans tasted something coppery in the back of his throat and felt adrenaline pour through his body.

Unwelcome thoughts harried Hans's brain for a few moments. _Let her die. Caring for her is weakness. It stands in the way of the greater good._ The conflict within him made him hesitate. Wright noticed, and he continued.

"I wouldn't try it, Hans," Wright said, slowly turning back and clasping his hands together again. "I've instructed them to cut her throat the moment you so much as move towards me. Now, I've gleaned a fair bit of information about your powers from the encounters you've had with my men before, and I know that you might be able to beat me into submission before they even see you twitch."

 _Do it. You could kill him. You could kill the guards, too. You'd lose Kariena, but nothing's going to save her now._

Hans realized that his fists were clenched. The knuckles had gone white. Somewhere in the back of his head, he realized that he could hear Kess's voice, playing over and over again. _Don't lose everything, Hans._ Before just now, he hadn't even remembered that day, those words. Now it all came flooding back. He had something to lose this time. He took a deep breath and got rid of the Unwelcome thoughts. He was better than the nightmare that haunted his past.

"Of course, that is why I do not have a key on my person. We are locked into this cell from the outside, and each person with a key is standing beyond your reach outside the cell. So I suggest that you do not try to attack me unless you are willing to trade your dear friend's life for my bloodied nose, hmm?"

Hans took a slow, uneven breath. Then he slowly spoke. "What do you want me to do?"

"Well, Hans," Wright said, a flicker of discomfort dancing across his face. "The master wants to offer you a deal in person. It will be here shortly."

Hans's jaw tightened. "Everdark is coming?"

"Yes," Wright said. He didn't seem particularly thrilled about the notion. "The master is quite pleased that we've managed to capture you and your friend. It says that we are about to accomplish something magnificent."

Hans's gaze flickered back towards Kariena.

 _You can deceive them. You can defeat them._

"You'll keep her safe."

"To the best of my ability," Wright swore. "Though I must warn you that my master may not respect such oaths."

Hans took a long, ragged breath. "Very well."

As soon as he spoke the words, a familiar tightness struck up in his chest and cold flooded the cell.

xxx

Elsa started awake with a jolt. She shifted painfully and looked around to find that she was in something that resembled a large birdcage. The cylindrical, iron-barred cell was hung from the ceiling of a large, vaulted chamber, dim everywhere except near two gigantic, flaming braziers set on one side of the room. Beyond it was a post-and-lintel of stone set into the wall, almost like a gateway. She partly expected it to burst open at any moment and start spewing fire and brimstone into the chamber.

She looked around and saw that there were many cages like her own along both sides of the room. The only other occupied one held Odette, on the other side of the vaulted space a dozen or so meters away.

She wasn't awake. At least, she wasn't moving.

Elsa shifted her legs and felt them cry out in protest. The bottom of the cage was comprised of flat metal slats that didn't fully enclose it, and her calves were covered with painful red stripes where she'd supported her weight in sleep. She realized with a start that she'd been stripped down to a thin shift and immediately felt a stab of fear that she might have been raped. Then she felt a far greater stab of fear that Odette might have been raped.

 _Focus, Elsa. Keep your head about you._ The last thing she remembered was… well, it was surrendering to the pair of wizards back during the fighting, earlier. Or… was it earlier? How much time had passed? Something, or someone, had obliterated her recollection of everything else. That worried her.

She tried to reach down to massage her calves and realized for the first time that her hands were fully encased in steel manacles that were welded to the sides of the cage. Elsa let out a soft snort of annoyance.

A noise from below indicated that they weren't as alone in here as she'd first thought. A slow dirge struck up from among the shadows below, and figures began to shift about in the darkness. Flocks of penitents knelt on the floor below, sticking to the shadows and swaying their prostrate forms to the unanimous thrum. At the far end of the room, Elsa heard large double-doors open. She couldn't see around a massive pillar supporting the roof, but she heard several pairs of footsteps approach.

As well as… the clinking of chains?

Elsa craned her neck to look around the pillar and saw several men pass by through the center of the penitents below, towing Kariena Tae between their arms. She held her head high and defiant, her hands bound, and her ankles connected by a thick chain that glowed with bizarre runes, presumably to contain her powers. Hans walked between two cultists, his own hands surprisingly free. He glanced around the room, but didn't look up high enough to notice Elsa. She considered calling out to him for a moment, but then thought better of it.

 _Oh, how foolish we've been, dear Hans. I truly wish that I'd been able to offer you a triumphant reunion, but it seems that we're never destined for anything easy._

The chanting had gotten louder by gradients during Hans's advance towards the braziers, and it came now to a powerful and sudden silence as they stopped there. A man that Elsa took to be the Senator Wright took the mask of a vulture, proffered by one of the faceless cultists, and lowered it onto his head.

Then Everdark arrived.

The room flushed cold, and a haunting wind blew through the rows of worshippers. The very air bent under the might of the God of Darkness's presence, and choking tendrils began to seep and wend through empty space. Elsa inadvertently found herself gasping for breath. They began to pour into Senator Wright's willing body. His screams of pain were jarringly loud against the silence that gripped the rest of the chamber, his body's convulsions disturbing and erratic. In a few moments, glowingly red eyes trailed through the mask.

"VICTORY!" Everdark screamed. In an instant, the room was filled with the deafening roar of hundreds.

Elsa had heard Everdark speak before, through the late King Frederick. Then, the God of Darkness had been smooth, and charismatic. It had almost been charming. Now, as the roars for blood crashed upon the chamber like a surging tide, Elsa realized that she had been deceived. Deceived into thinking that, at the end of the day, the enemy they fought was one who thought like Namar Sadden.

She'd thought Everdark was cunning and cruel, ambitious and nefarious, charming and insidious. Now she realized that Everdark could play that part if it wanted to, but inside it was truly filled with nothing but hatred.

"… VICTORY WILL BE OURS TODAY, MY FRIENDS! TODAY WE WILL FINALLY RETAKE THE THRONE WHICH WAS SO UNJUSTLY TAKEN FROM US! WE HAVE WAITED MILLENIA FOR THIS SATISFACTION, AND THAT WILL MAKE IT ALL THE SWEETER!"

Elsa shot another glance at Odette's cage, and saw that the girl was awake now. They met eyes from across the room. Elsa hoped that she didn't look as scared as Odette did. Hell, Elsa hoped that she didn't look as scared as she _was._

Everdark's voice became softer as Wright/Everdark approached Hans and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"And it is this man, this wonderful man, who has graciously acquiesced to my pleas for help." In an instant, Everdark the deceiver was back. Elsa craned her neck to try to get a look at Hans's face, but it was cast into shadow from her height.

Everdark/Wright turned towards the crowd of penitents and continued. "Many of you are well aware of Hans's skill at disrupting my schemes, as he has done so often across our many campaigns, but I'd imagine that few of you know _why_ he has been such a thorn to us.

"Well, my friends, I can tell you why! Hans here was bound about a year ago as a _slave_ to the very usurper that we seek today to topple! He has not his own volition! It is not _he_ who stands in our path, but the pretender King Hades! Hans craves the very same liberation that we do!"

There was a riotous response from the crowd. Applause. Cheering. Elsa felt a fresh wave of panic.

 _No. Hans can't have turned. He wouldn't. He's different now._

Everdark waited for the crowd to quiet for a moment before continuing with a grin. "And I say that we are going to give it to him."

Everdark/Wright drew a strange blade from within its robes. The blade glowed with a silvery-white sheen, and something was inscribed along the flat, although from this distance Elsa couldn't make it out. To her surprise, Everdark/Wright motioned with its left hand, and the guards to either side of Hans quickly undid the manacles binding his wrists.

Everdark/Wright proffered the knife to Hans. Elsa's dread intensified as Hans accepted the thin blade.

"With this blade Hans will break the bonds of servitude that bind him to the corruption that claims the Underworld! With this blade Hans will restore our right to rule! With this blade Hans will set us free! Praise your liberator!"

The chanting struck up again, this time a frenzied chorus.

"But of course, the knife is merely the instrument by which our maestro will conduct his grand symphony. First, we must provide him with some inspiration."

At that, two cultists moved a little pedestal to the space before the braziers, and they set a wide, golden bowl upon it. Perhaps two feet in diameter, the bowl was empty and glimmered with a soft brilliance.

"Unlike many rituals, the one which will take us to the Underworld is simple." Everdark/Wright smiled wickedly. "This magic asks only one price."

Hans slowly turned to face the penitents. He gazed for a long time towards Kariena, and then glanced up. For a fraction of a second, shock flickered across his face as he saw Elsa, imprisoned in the cage hanging from the ceiling. Elsa couldn't make out anything in his eyes. She hoped that he could make anything at all out in hers.

Hans turned the knife towards his own heart.

Kariena surged against her protectors and cried out, but they quickly restrained her. She let out a plaintive sob.

"No," Elsa whispered.

xxx

"Yes…" Everdark/Wright said, its voice soft and supplicative, an insidious hiss that flowed about the ears and ensorcelled the mind. "Yes, Hans. It's time to be free now. It's time to finally be free."

Hans turned towards Everdark/Wright. "You didn't tell me that Elsa and Odette were here. Promise me that they'll be safe."

"I have no intention of hurting them, my dear Hans," the God of Darkness replied, his head mere inches from Hans's ear. The former prince could kinesthetically sense the feathers of the mask just behind him. "I have great need for witches of each of their particular traits. They will serve me well."

Hans turned his gaze towards Kariena. Tears stained her cheeks, but she met his gaze.

 _Please,_ she mouthed silently.

He smiled sadly at her in return.  
"And Kariena."

"Of course." Everdark/Wright shifted now, to face Hans more closely. "So many times, you've made me promise you that nothing will come of your poor Kariena. I think that perhaps you've finally moved on from your first true love, Hans. That's good. Passion suits you, young man."

Hans met the gaze with his chin raised.

Everdark/Wright placed a hand over its heart. "Nothing adverse will happen to her, Hans. I swear it. She is perhaps the most unique and powerful of all the witches I have had the great fortune to capture of late. I would be quite the fool if I let her go to waste."

Hans slowly turned his gaze forwards again.

He wasn't sure if he loved Kariena. It didn't feel the same as it did with Mallory, but maybe it didn't need to. _Yes,_ he realized. _Yes. I love her._ He thought of Elsa and felt a surprisingly deep pang of sadness that he would never speak to her again.

He wished that he'd had time to make things right with Anna. Now he'd never have time to prove to her that he wasn't a villain.

He thought of his parents, and his brothers. To his surprise, he thought of Maxwell. He remembered all the times they'd laughed together. When he'd taken his eldest brother's life, all that he could feel was hatred. It had been a red so deep that it blocked out everything else.

For the first time in quite a while, Hans felt like he saw clearly again. The moments spent loving meant so much more than the moments spent hating. The sunny days were bright enough to get you through the clouds. Everything was so much more beautiful than he'd let himself realize, and everyone was a unique and beautiful combination of lights and darks and greys, all painted with a different brush.

It felt like a good moment to go.

Hans rammed the tensing blade into his chest, right into the cavity where his heart had once been. In a mason jar in Hades's temple in the underworld, it split open and ran red. Hans drew the blade out and dropped it into the dish, feeling his own warm blood run down his chest and join it.

He turned his gaze to the sky and smiled.

xxx

"NO!" Elsa screamed, her voice sounding empty and surreal as Hans started to collapse. Two cultists gripped his arms and forced him over the bowl, where his blood flowed freely.

Kariena let out a ragged wail.

Elsa tried to call magic, but grief and pain overcame her, and she felt nothing inside. She continued to scream while Hans bled, tears blurring her eyes. _This isn't real. We aren't supposed to lose. We're the good guys. We aren't supposed to lose._

 _We…_

 _We lost._

 _We lost._

 _We lost._

The cultists slowly, reverently drew Hans's corpse away from the altar. Everdark/Wright placed a hand against his neck, felt for a pulse. Then it turned towards the Cult of Entropy and smiled.

"He is free."

The roars of triumph felt distant. Elsa barely noticed as the crowd of cultists surged forwards, running beyond the braziers. They ran right to the gateway in the wall and passed through it, screaming cries of hatred as they drew their weapons and prepared to retake the Underworld. In less than a minute, only Everdark/Wright was left among them.

It turned towards Elsa and smiled. "Ah. Yes, in your grief, you are unable to resist me. Well, Protector, it's a pleasure to be working with you again."

Elsa felt like an insect faced with the wrath of God as Everdark entered her mind.

End of Arc Five


	24. Interlude - Odette & Elsa

Interlude – Odette and Elsa

 _What in me is dark / Illumine._

 _Paradise Lost_

* * *

New York City,

New York

July 23rd, 1843

Elsa was gone, into the breach with Everdark's army to bring destruction and subjugation to the unfortunate folk on the other side. Hans was dead, lain upon the altar between the braziers with his arms crossed upon his chest. Odette remained, numb all the way through and shackled inside her cage.

She almost wished that they hadn't treated Hans's corpse with such dignity, because if it had just lay in a crumpled heap near the wall, she'd be able to convince herself that he might not actually be dead – perhaps he was just mortally wounded, clinging to threads of life. She hoped that maybe, if she could get down to him in time, she might still be able to save him. Maybe this time would be different.

 _Death is immutable, little one,_ the Watcher's voice echoed to her.

Mother's cries of pain came rushing back. Odette was suddenly, horribly eleven years old again, hiding under her bed while the dull thuds of a savage beating filtered through the walls. Father's voice, low and angry and indecipherable. Odette wished that he would just yell sometimes.

This time was worse. Odette could tell it was worse. She couldn't remember when he'd started hitting mother. At this point, she couldn't remember the days when their arguments had just been words. She remembered, though, the first time mother hadn't been able to hide the bruises. Odette had cried. She'd been terrified, and mother had been so quiet.

She'd wanted to help so badly, that she had. Somehow, Odette had taken her mother's bruises away. It was a miracle, her mother had said. _Odette_ was a miracle, a gift from God to help her weather the storm that was her husband.

Of course, mother hadn't just married father because he was well-to-do. Not rich, in the sense that Elsa had been, but wealthy enough that want wasn't an issue for father's family, which was plenty enough to seem rich in the little town near Marseilles that Odette had grown up in. No, when they'd met many years ago, father and mother had been very much in love. Back then, father hadn't been so angry. Or perhaps he had been, and he'd simply hidden it better.

 _We all hide things, sweetheart,_ her mother's voice said, in the sweet singsong that meant it was trying to atone for the screaming Odette had heard last night. _Your father hides his anger. That's what makes it dangerous. You'll hide what makes you special, too. It'll just be our little secret. That's what makes it special._

 _But why, momma?_

 _Heroes aren't always the ones who are strong, Odette. Sometimes, a hero is nothing more than the person who is kind, when we need kindness. The person who cares for us, when no one else does. The person who tucks in our blanket at the end of the night. I don't need you to be strong. I need you to be who you are._

Odette remembered the tears brimming in mother's eyes when she'd said those words. At that time, she'd been too young to understand why mother was crying while she said it. Now Odette was eleven, and she'd been doing this for years. Patching up the bruises and broken bones that father left behind. Father never wondered why mother always seemed to be ready to take another punch. Perhaps it angered him more, that the damage he did each night was wiped clean by morning.

Odette huddled into a fetal position when there was a particularly loud crash. Father had smashed something. Unintelligible screaming as mother tried to get him to stop. She still sounded angry. Part of Odette was proud that mother was being brave, that she hadn't given in yet. Mostly, she was scared, though. These things ended sooner if you just let him wear his anger out in a few good hits.

This time, it was escalating. A huge slam rattled the wall. She could hear father's insidious growling closer now. He'd thrown mother up against the wall. She wasn't making any sounds. He was probably choking her. Odette placed her hands over her ears and started to cry. She was so helpless. So powerless.

Odette's memory was a white haze after that. It probably got worse for several more minutes. There was certainly more screaming. She was glad that she couldn't remember any of the stabbing. The next, visceral memory hit her like a stone wall.

Odette was kneeling on the ground, next to her mother. She was frightfully cold. Father was gone. Odette didn't know where. He'd be back in the morning, ready to keep playing this game. Only this time, he'd won.

Odette felt hysterical, her movements erratic and sharp as she tried to get her powers to work. No. Mother's eyes weren't opening. Yes, he'd started stabbing her this time, but why weren't those wounds reknitting? Odette's body was flooded with adrenaline. She tasted something hard and sharp. She could smell something brutal and metallic, and her entire body was shaking.

"No, no, no…" She groaned without specifically choosing any words, a dreadful dirge tumbling out as she placed her ear to her mother's chest.

There was no sound, no movement.

 _Death is immutable, little one._

Odette looked up, eyes wild. She was no longer in their little house, no longer crouched on a bloodstained carpet. Mother lay blissfully recumbent on a field of wild grass, surrounded by beautiful flowers. Pinks and whites and yellows. Bright ones, the kind that mother always tried to get to grow in the planter boxes. They never ended up blooming back home.

Before them was a beautiful woman, tall and backlit by the sun. She wore long, simple robes of white, and a pair of huge, majestic wings that spanned out far in either direction, softly flapping to keep the angel suspended a foot or so off of the ground.

Odette looked around herself, amazed. The sky was so blue, and bright. The field was idyllic, like something out of a happy fairy tale. Tears began to spill down her cheeks.

"No…" She said softly, reaching down to softly cup the side of her mother's face with the palm of her hand. To her surprise, the hand that did so was not the hand of an eleven-year-old. She was twenty-six again, still crying as she knelt over her mother's corpse.

She looked up towards the angel and blinked through the haze of tears. It was the same one, wearing the same sad smile.

"Grief is a long and complex process, little one," the angel said. Her voice was beautiful. Odette felt a massive shiver run down her spine. It was exactly the way she remembered it. "It is even more difficult for a Mender, like yourself. Many who have walked your path in ages past have been driven mad dwelling on the lives of those who they could not save."

Shaking, Odette slowly turned her mother's face upwards, to get a better look at it. She was young again, not much older than Odette, now. She was radiant and beautiful, and she looked _happy._ The lines of stress that had creased her eyes and her forehead were gone.

"I'd started to forget what she looked like," Odette whispered. "Sometimes I'd think about her, and I wouldn't be able to call a face to mind."

"I am sorry," the Watcher replied simply. "It is a natural process."

Odette looked up again. "Why am I here?"

The Watcher contemplated that for several moments. "I do not know for certain. Perhaps you are ready to hear your mother's last wishes."

Odette gasped. She remembered, suddenly, a young girl refusing to hear her mother's parting words almost fifteen years ago, because she wasn't ready to accept the finality that they implied. She wondered if she _was_ ready.

Eventually, Odette nodded. "I want to hear them."

The watcher touched down to the ground, and padded through the tall grass on bare feet as she approached Odette. She extended her hands, and Odette took them, pulling the young woman to her feet. The Watcher used her thumb to brush the tears away from Odette's eyes.

"She told me that she wants nothing more than your happiness. She said that you are a hero."

Odette blinked again, several more times. They were quiet. Then she met the angel's eyes and took a slow breath.

"You see them all, don't you? People who… come here?"

The Watcher smiled. "I have not yet seen your friend Hans."

Odette gasped. "Then… is there… is there still time?"

The Watcher took a step backwards now, and her wings unfurled to either side. "There is not time for you to save him, if that is what you ask," the angel said. "I have felt his essence leave the world. But at the same time, I have not yet shepherded his soul into heaven. Perhaps there is more to life and death than even I understand, little one."

With a sudden rush of wind, the angel beat her wings and took the air again.

"What will I do?" Odette called after the Watcher as she took to the sky again.

 _You'll be a hero._

xxx

Odette cried out, and suddenly she was back in a cell suspended from the ceiling.

All the history that led up to this moment flooded back. After mother died, father had realized that he'd gone too far. He'd sent Odette away, to a school in Marseilles, to keep her safe from his outbursts. From there, she would be recommended by her tutors to Lannister University in Arendelle. She hadn't seen her father in fifteen years.

Odette came back to the present. She needed to get out of here. She strained monumentally against the shackles binding her hands, and she felt one of the screws give slightly. She took a deep breath.

 _This is gonna hurt like hell._

Odette yanked her hands as hard as she could, far harder than even she meant to. She felt a horrid, painful _tear,_ and her wrists snapped as they broke free of the manacles. She let out a sharp hiss of breath, and her eyes brimmed with tears.

 _Okay. You're okay._

Odette took a deep breath and Mended her wrists, being careful not to waste too much energy doing so. She'd need that for what was to come. Odette reached up to her head instinctively, but her captors had taken the pin out, and her hair hung loose around her shoulders.

The latch holding her cell closed was really quite simple, actually, and rather fragile; even if a captive was able to get free of the manacles, it wouldn't really help them get safely to the ground from their precarious position. Odette wedged her arm through a pair of bars and wriggled awkwardly into a position that she could fiddle with the latch. Were her circumstances less dire, she'd be interested to learn exactly how she and Elsa had been put into these cages in the first place, but now was not the time.

She got a hand around the flimsy lock holding the latch in place. She took a deep breath, and pulled on it. Nothing. She tried again, harder. It rattled, but held.

She took a deep breath and _pulled_ once more, dislocating her shoulder in the process. The lock snapped and the latch immediately came undone. One half of the cage opened to the air, and Odette tumbled through the breach.

 _Well, I never would have been brave enough to jump,_ an oddly detached part of her thought as she plummeted through the fifty feet to the ground. She flipped herself so that she'd be landing feet-first and did what she could to try to cushion her head before she _crunched_ into the ground.

For a few moments, Odette lost consciousness. When she came back, all Odette could feel was pain. Pain everywhere. She didn't dare look down as she started Mending herself, gasping repeatedly as a fiery warmth spread throughout her limbs. A cold pit opened in her stomach to match the warmth, an indicator that she was running out of energy.

Well, no matter. She was alive.

After two minutes, she could slowly drag herself into a sitting position, and after a minute more, she could shakily stand. Odette glanced towards the wall where the ritual had taken place, where the portal to the underworld still lay open to her. Before it, a single body lay in repose, a drying streak of red down its chest.

Odette came to a stop before the altar and looked down at Hans. Then she glanced back towards the yawning portal.

 _Heroes aren't always the ones who are strong. Sometimes, a hero is nothing more than the person who tucks in your blanket at the end of the night._

Odette turned away from the portal and slowly worked to get Hans's body over her shoulders. Right now, he needed someone to be there for him. He needed someone to lay him down to rest. She grunted a bit as she stood, but managed to steady the wobbling of her legs. She looked around, and for the first time realized that she had no idea where Kariena Tae had gone. It was good to know that there might be someone left to rendezvous with.

Odette took a deep breath and started the long road home.

xxx

Hades wished that he couldn't hear the roars of bloodlust from below. He wished that there was some hope of escape, that somehow, some way, he would make it out of this alive. He wished that one of the benefits of a long life would be the dignity to face the coming end with a chin held high.

None of his wishes would come true today. A massive boom rumbled in the stone floor of the keep, and dust filtered down from the ceiling. Hades whipped his head about frantically, his gaze roving over the precious few who had made it into the last redoubt with him before they sealed themselves in. Maybe forty of his more faithful servants and guard, including Lady Blackheart. Hades didn't know where her personal attendant had been lost, but he could see the pain etched in her face.

The enemy had come out of nowhere. Hades had always known this day would come, but the horrible, nightmarish truth of it all was more than he'd ever been prepared to handle. He hadn't been prepared to defend himself against an invasion, though he knew that he'd never have been able to truly fend off Everdark's forces. Now they were trapped in a series of four chambers in the heart of Hades's temple, walled off from the outside and left to wait for their own demise.

"Master?" Lady Blackheart said softly from beside him. He hadn't seen her approach.

"What is it, Marina?"

"We just let one more in through the east chamber. He says that they've lost the entire wing. It's only a matter of time before they reach us."

Hades felt a painful wrench of fear in his gut. "I see."

Lady Blackheart started to turn away, and then stopped, glancing back. "And… one more thing."

"He's dead, isn't he?" Hades said, fighting to speak around the lump in his throat. "That's why they're here?"

Lady Blackheart met his gaze. A single tear rolled down her cheek. "Dead, or else he's leading them," she said softly. "So maybe it's best to hope that he is."

Hades didn't get the chance to respond. There was another deafening, boom, and screaming started up from the east chamber. Hades ran towards the commotion, entering into the large atrium to see several of his personal guard leaning desperately against the door even as it buckled inwards under the force of another blow. It was coming. Death was coming. Hades wanted to turn and run, but he couldn't move his legs.

A few moments passed, and the siege ram didn't pound again. The door guard exchanged frantic glances, wondering what could have stopped the enemy. Then another blow came, harder than any before it, breaching the doors and blowing them off of their hinges. In the same instant the wan torchlight illuminating the chamber was extinguished, casting the desperate survivors into pitch darkness, save the flickering light of Hades's head.

But the enemy did not flood into the chamber, cries of blood at their lips. Everything was dark, and everything was silent. For a few moments, the survivors could only stare towards the yawning darkness near the head of the chamber with grotesque anticipation.

A brilliant, white-blue light erupted in the doorway, casting Elsa into a stark and brilliant profile. She slowly turned Rimeheart over in her hand as she entered the chamber, the sword's brilliance almost painful to the eyes.

Hades couldn't move, couldn't even think as she began to advance through the chamber. His guard, to their credit, took up their weapons and charged, calling the cries of men who knew their fate.

Elsa fluidly turned aside the first two attacks and struck one down with a brilliant stroke. A thunderclap rolled through the chamber, pounding Hades's ears. He flinched, but still he could not run. She turned to the other and sent three bolts of ice through his body, tearing him to bloody pieces. She kept advancing, Rimeheart moving in brilliant, elliptic strokes and marking kills with a drumbeat of thunder.

Hades's guard was crushed in a matter of heartbeats, and suddenly the Prince of the Underworld could move again. Fear drove him to run. He ran without looking backwards, fleeing through the east chamber and back through the others, growing hysterical as the thunderclaps continued to pound his ears.

Lady Blackheart did not run. She stood defiant in Elsa's path and cried the incantation to a spell that had taken her a dozen lifetimes to master. A dozen flickering shadows coalesced around her and raised into a tempest of nightmares, charging towards Elsa. The wave of darkness rolled through the chamber and swept up around the ice queen, dozens of violent, needling creatures of shadow attacking her from every direction.

Elsa barely seemed to care. Rimeheart danced in the air and brilliant bursts of arcana swirled about her as she fought back the darkness, flashes of brilliance searing Lady Blackheart's eyes as each of her creations was destroyed in turn. Elsa cut through the illusion and laid bare the deception with ease, barely breaking stride in in the process. Lady Blackheart collapsed to her knees, eyes glistening with tears as Elsa crossed the distance between them and swung her sword around to bear.

Hades heard one last thunderclap from the south chamber.

Fear fled over into hysterical panic and he started to scream. He reached the last door and desperately tried to force it open, but he found that it was already frozen shut with a thick patina of ice. He started pounding on the wood, begging pathetically for help that would not come.

He heard Elsa's footsteps as she entered the chamber behind him.

The last thing Hades saw was a brilliant white glow, burned into the back of his eyes.


	25. Interlude - Odette & Anna & Ashanerat

Author's Note:

A dozen apologies for missing the upload last Monday. Once again, my schoolwork and my job caught up to me, and I had to let things slide for a little bit. Now that we're back, I get to announce that, once again, we'll be taking a break from Words of the Protector for a few weeks to dive deep with another short story! Be on the lookout for _Hans: a Trials of Light and Darkness Story,_ our first short story about (guess who), Hans! The first chapter will be posted 3/26/18 (next Monday). Until then, happy reading!

xxx

Interlude – Odette and Anna and Ashanerat

 _Fear will be your enemy._

 _Frozen_

* * *

Olympia,

The Southern Isles

August 17th, 1843

"Lord God, you are attentive to the voice of our pleading." A brisk wind tousled the grass atop the little cemetery hill, bringing with it the scent of impending rain. Summer was coming to an end. Odette and Kariena both wore dresses of a somber black as they stood beside the wilted old minister performing the rites.

His voice was thin and reedy. They'd chosen a little, pastoral church at the edge of the magnet villages surrounding Olympia for Hans's burial. Kariena said that Hans had mentioned once that he didn't like cities. There wasn't enough room to breathe, and to think. The minister was the only caretaker of the little stone church, really no bigger than a single room and in the service of some twenty villagers who took up residence near a wending little brook. They were fishermen by nature. The minister didn't ask many questions. He could tell they'd lost someone who mattered.

The three stood alone beside a freshly tilled grave, set with a simple, unadorned stone. The unplanted earth was loose around their feet, but the minister assured them that when the next planting season came around, he'd come put the seeds of a rosebush here. All the other little tombstones in the cemetery were practically overgrown with bright flowers. They swayed in the wind, colorful faces turned up to the sky.

"Let us find in your Son comfort in our sadness, certainty in our doubt, and the courage to live through this, our darkest hour. Make our faith strong through Christ, our Lord." The little minister drew a bible from underneath his arm and opened it to a silky red bookmark. He began to read.

"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die." He closed the book again after the little passage.

"Amen," the pair each murmured. Odette had heard Elsa speak that verse before. Despite her irreverence, something about it had stuck with the Queen of Arendelle. Now, it seemed fit to describe them both.

The breeze kicked up a bit more, and the trio squinted towards the horizon. Perhaps the rain was coming sooner than they'd anticipated.

The minister turned back towards them and smiled sadly. "I'm sure that Hans will be very missed, by the both of you, madams." All the old man had asked them for was a name. It was all they gave. "It's always a grave loss when someone so young leaves us. But I know that he would have taken comfort to know that he will be kept in your minds and in your hearts."

"Thank you, father," Kariena said softly. There was a little tremble in her voice.

"God be with you, always." The old man started off down the cemetery hill, leaving them to mourn in silence. For some time, they did.

When another cool breeze came and reminded Odette that it was about to rain, she glanced towards Kariena. Silent tears trickled down the young woman's face. "It's okay if now isn't the best time to talk about what comes next."

Kariena shook her head. "It's okay. I want to. I want to see this finished."

Odette nodded slowly. "It's just… we might not be able to do this by ourselves. This fight seems bigger than you or me."

"He would have kept fighting," Kariena said. "No matter the odds. And I'll walk through Hell and back if I have to, because I'm going to keep fighting too."

Odette placed a hand on Kariena's shoulder and smiled sadly. "And I'll be right there by your side."

The pair of witches headed back down the hill just as the first raindrops began to softly fall.

xxx

Anna rest a hand the slight bulge of her stomach as she leaned against the doorframe, gazing out towards the city as sheets of rain pummeled the city. She didn't seem to be aware that she was drenched by the errant mist that got in under the eaves, little rivulets streaming off of her hair and down her face.

"Anna!" Kristoff gasped from behind, rushing into the room and sweeping the doors to the balcony shut. "What the hell are you doing?" He said, searching her face with worried eyes until she blinked twice and met his gaze.

"It's only been six weeks," Kristoff said, his voice becoming gentler as he smoothed some hair out her face. "You have to give her some time. This isn't the kind of thing that gets done overnight."

"It's not just that it's been so long, Kristoff," Anna said, inadvertently shivering, now that she realized just how cold she was. She smiled gratefully as Kristoff swept a towel around her shoulders and wound it close. "I just… I can feel something. Something bad."

"Look," Kristoff said, leading her to the bed and sitting beside her. "With my upbringing the way it was, I get being superstitious. I used to think that I could tell when a storm was coming, from patterns in the stars. It took me, uh, quite a while," Kristoff laughed once, "to realize that the stars are the same every night.

"The point is," he continued, clasping one of his wife's hands in his own, "that if you know where to look for something, it's not too hard to find it. Good or bad. Elsa will be home before you know it."

Anna swallowed her fear. "You're right."

"In the meantime," Kristoff said, "let's get you warmed back up. I was actually just about to sneak down for a –" he glanced over at the clock against the wall. "Not-quite-yet-midnight snack. Why don't we have the chef whip up something warm for you to drink?"

Anna smiled and took his hand, allowing her husband to pull her up from the bed. "Maybe we can give little no-name a bit to eat, too."

Anna laughed, despite herself. "I wish you'd stop calling our child that," she said, putting on an air of affront.

"Well, if you start helping me come up with names, I'll be the first to start using the real one," he said as he opened the door and let them out into the manor's hallway. Construction on their little cottage had gotten underway just a few weeks ago, and it was projected to be completed by winter. Until then, they remained in the late Namar Sadden's manor.

"Okay, Mr. Wiseguy, but we don't even know if they're a boy or a girl, yet," Anna said.

"Well why don't we give it a neutral name, like Alex, or Shirley," Kristoff said, placing a broad arm in the small of his wife's back and leading them along the dim chamber.

A candle was left lit every fifteen or so feet along the hallways at night, in case someone needed to get up. They were also helpful when Elsa stayed up doing paperwork until the wee hours of the morning. Anna hoped that they had cause to serve that function again, soon, but she knew deep down that even if Elsa returned, nothing would ever be like it was. At least, not for a long time.

Anna snorted. "Kristoff, I'd put one of my eyes out before I decided that it was a good idea to name my kid Shirley."

"Yeah, that one was mostly just to get a rise out of you," he said as they started down a staircase. After half a year in the manor, they'd finally started to figure out the fastest ways to navigate the maze of its corridors. "But seriously. We could come up with a name for each and just call it both until we know."

Anna raised a dubious eyebrow. "What, like Anna-Kristoff?"

"I mean, I don't think I'm egomaniacal enough to name my own kid after me, but sure," Kristoff said, laughing as Anna aggressively rolled her eyes.

They made their way down to the kitchens, where several cooks were hard at work, preparing the next day's meals.

"You know, this is one thing I'll miss, when we get out into the country," Kristoff said, smiling and stepping up behind the head chef, clapping him on the shoulder. "Evening, Marty. How 'bout you whip up me and the missus something to eat, huh?"

"Sounds good, chief, what'll it be?" The portly chef replied, stepping over to a pot of soup sizzling over a hearth. He tasted a bit of it and scowled, then barked some commands towards the sous chef, who in turn started parceling them out to the individual cooks.

Anna was reminded that she should spend some more time appreciating all of the little people who worked together to bring together her privileged experience every day. Back when she was young, her father had told her not to worry about the individual servants much. He'd assured her that they were paid well, and that they served at the pleasure of the crown. Well, Agnarr had believed in the divine right of kings, so Anna wasn't sure how much she should take her servants for granted.

After placing an order, Kristoff led them over to a little wooden table in the kitchens that the cooks would use on break. Right now, however, it was just them. The couple sat in silence for a few moments; it looked to Anna like Kristoff was trying to figure out how he wanted to say something, but he wasn't quite sure how to do it. Eventually, he settled his mind and spoke up.

"I don't want to worry you unnecessarily," he started.

Anna snorted. "You spend all that time thinking about how to start this conversation, and you start it like that?"

"Well," Kristoff scratched the back of his neck. "Look, I don't think it's really that big of a deal, but I just wanted to make sure that you know what's going on."

"Okay," Anna said, smiling gratefully at the matronly woman who deposited a tray laden with soup, bread, and even some hot chocolate on their table. "I _do_ want to know what's going on…"

"So, I'm going to speak to Vander about this tomorrow morning," Kristoff continued, mentioning the regent who had taken stewardship of Arendelle since Elsa's departure. Anna didn't know much more about Vander than what Elsa had told her about him, and in her absence suddenly Anna found herself wishing that she hadn't been so lax about statecraft and politics lessons during her youth. "And it's probably nothing, but, well, here goes."

Anna took the mug of hot chocolate and sipped at it. Warmth spread through her chest.

"There's been some really strange weather patterns going on recently," Kristoff said. "My men have noticed some particularly odd stuff up on the North Mountain as they're gathering ice. Flash storms, like the one we've got tonight, but also some strange light patterns in the sky. Not like the aurora, but something else entirely. Sort of… well, I haven't seen it for myself, but they describe it as these red and orange streaks through the sky that almost look like flame."

"Okay, that sounds like something that I should maybe be worried about," Anna said.

"Well, there's not really much that any of us can do about it, except just keep an eye out," Kristoff said. "So, I'll let Vander know, and we'll see what advice he has to offer on it, and we'll take things from there."

Anna tried to force down panic. "Elsa told me that in her visions of the past, the sky was burning."

Kristoff took Anna's hands again and smiled reassuringly. "Our world got through this once before, Anna. And that time, they didn't have your sister to guide them through. With Elsa standing between us and oblivion, we don't have a goddamn thing to fear."

xxx

Ashanerat stepped out of the Paliendron, feeling washed out and bare. Nearly one year had passed since Dominus had been killed by Everdark. Not yet ten minutes had passed since Ashanerat had finally agreed to perform the binding ritual.

The air outside the Paliendron was thick with particulate, and it took her a few moments to adjust her breathing. She coughed, once or twice. The ceaseless, swirling storms of the early desolation had gone, and now Celestus seemed to be caught in the eye of a storm. The city would spend days, sometimes, even a few lucky weeks between each of the horrible storms. But then, just when the city had started to come out of hiding, the air would start to choke with sand again. A day or so later, the sun would be blotted out behind a dark haze. Then that night, hell would come.

Sand would come to blast the city with such force that it scoured stone white. Humans and animals caught outside in the storm would have their very flesh stripped away. And the hordes of dead would rise and lay siege to the crumbling walls. Ashanerat felt the knot in her stomach twist painfully at the thought that they were living on borrowed time until the next storm.

"We must last only three more days, Ashanerat," Rhennalus said softly from behind her.

Ashanerat turned with surprise to glance at the old man, standing to her right with his hands clasped together. She hadn't realized he'd been nearby.

"Circu says that it will take him this long to ready the ritual. The process would normally take a month or longer, but he we will weave magic for seventy-two hours straight so that we will be ready."

Ashanerat glanced towards the city's walls, where people were hastily trying to construct windbreaks that would help abate the storm. A few ordinary spellcasters, not full wizards, but magic users with access to only a single ability, walked among them, helping the citizenry turn dunes of sand into hardened stone.

"That will be dangerous," Ashanerat replied. Trying to sustain magic for more than a few hours at a time was mentally and physically taxing. Trying to weave a complex and powerful ritual for three days straight would be life-threatening. Ashanerat did not deny, however, that they didn't have time to spare.

"Circu is prepared to give his life in the process," the Bard Rhennalus whispered.

Ashanerat turned to meet Rhennalus's eyes, and for a moment she said nothing. Rhennalus did not say what went unspoken: _perhaps he would have been able to prepare the ritual across several months if you had agreed to its necessity sooner._

"That is very noble of him," she eventually managed.

"I agree," Rhennalus said. "We will recall you once the ritual is ready for completion. Until then, I suggest that you save as many lives as you can during the next storm, Protector."

Rhennalus turned and began to walk away, the hem of his robe leaving a dusty trail on the scoured earth.


	26. Chapter Twenty-One

Arc Six

Defeat

Chapter Twenty-One

 _The last reserve of desperate men is hope._

 _Arno Belgold Montaigne_

* * *

Sadden's Manor,

Arendelle

September 2nd, 1843

"Until further notice, let it be known that all construction of the new royal palace is to be halted," Charles Vander dictated to the young man scribbling shorthand notes behind him. The venerable politician stood facing a window on the third floor of the manor, looking out to gloomy grey skies. The weather had turned south from summer rapidly this year, and it belligerently refused to give them anything but cold winds and rain, these days. The farmers were worried about their growing seasons being cut short, and assured Vander that soon enough the entire city would be worrying about it, too.

Food shortages were the last thing this city needed, right now, and each night Vander prayed that the sun show its face the following morning. Deep lines of distress were etched into his face, reflected in the smooth glass. In the middle distance, across the city, he could see the footprint of the new palace. Exposed timbers reached three stories into the sky.

"There are more important public works that must be undertaken. The farmers have warned of a shortage of food in our near future, and we must be prepared to respond. Beginning in two days on Monday, all of the public works employees will be organized into one of several gathering forces. Some will fish, and some will hunt, and if anyone has any other ideas, we'd be happy to hear them."

Vander sighed, and returned to Namar Sadden's old desk and sat down. He'd sat on the other side of this desk many times – the pair of magistrates had once been the best of friends. It was still hard for Vander to comprehend what Namar Sadden had become, at the end.

"Is that all?" The young man said, returning his quill to its pot.

"Yes, for now," Vander replied, waving a hand.

The scribe stood up to leave but stopped near the door. "Master Montaigne told me that Princess Anna and her consort would like to have you for lunch." He looked at the grandfather clock against the wall. "It should be ready quite soon."

Vander thanked him, and headed down to the dining hall immediately. He could use a shot of Kristoff's seemingly endless good humor right about now.

xxx

Vander was surprised to find that there was a commotion in the hall when he entered. Anna and Kristoff were gathered around a pair of young women standing near the doorway. They wore rain-slicked traveling cloaks and accepted towels from a flock of nearby servants, using them to dry their wet hair. Vander knew one to be Odette Marie Novare, the queen's closest confidant and a former colleague of his, but he did not recognize the short woman with her. As Vander drew near, he found her accent to be rather American.

"It's so good to see you back safe, Odette," Anna said, pulling her into a tight embrace. "We've all been so, so worried, I just…"

Odette's voice quavered at arm's length. "Elsa… Elsa's gone, Anna."

A hush fell over the entire chamber. Kristoff put a supportive hand on his wife's shoulder. Her face was ashen.

"She's… dead?" Anna's voice sounded very small in the great hall.

"No," Odette replied morosely. "Not yet. But she's been taken by Everdark. She serves the God of Darkness now."

Vander looked about, worried. He suddenly wasn't sure if they should be taking so many servants into the confidence of this sort of information.

"You can't mean –" Anna began, before Odette amended her statement.

"Not willingly. She was dominated. She won't be able to break free on her own."

"How could this happen?" Anna said. "Elsa told me that she could protect herself, said that Hans had taught her how."

Odette and the American woman didn't reply immediately, and they exchanged a bleak glance.

"What?" Anna said. "What happened?"

"Hans is dead," the American said. "He died to save me. Elsa didn't know that it was going to happen, and in the – in the shock that followed, Everdark was able to take her. It was a noble sacrifice."

"I hope that you don't have any more bad news," Kristoff said hollowly.

"We certainly don't have any good news," Odette said. She replaced her glasses after wiping rain droplets from them. "Everdark's forces have entered the underworld. Kariena and I decided that their goal was most likely to kill Hades and reclaim control of Hell, but we can't be sure. There's all sorts of things that we don't know."

Anna seemed to have recovered a bit from her earlier swoon, and she took a long breath. "Well, thank God that you two made it back alive, at least."

Vander was impressed at her remarkable calm. He had always admired the princess's strength.

"What's going to happen next?" Kristoff asked.

"We don't know," Kariena said. "But I don't think we'll be safe for long."

Kristoff and Anna continued to pepper Odette and Kariena with questions for a few more minutes, during which Vander found a seat at the dining table and stared at his hands, clasped together in his lap. He was too old for something like this. He missed Elita. In the long years since her passing, the old magistrate often found himself less and less able to handle major shocks.

Finally, when it seemed that Odette and Kariena had nothing more to share, they settled upon calling a meeting of the city's most important people to formulate a defense plan. It seemed like a hopelessly optimistic response to the ire of a god, but there was little else to do than hope.

xxx

Anna spoke first at the meeting, despite Vander's formal superiority. The young princess had a way of winning the hearts and ears of the Arendanes that Charles Vander had never shared. The Sigurors were monarchs by heritage, but rulers by design. They were good at what they did.

"Thank you for being here," Anna said. Behind her voice, the rains had gotten louder again. They pounded against the shutters of the second-floor war room they occupied. There were just over two dozen people present, packed tightly around a circular table laid with a map of the city. They were mostly powerful merchants and even some working-class men with influence among their peers. Most of Arendelle's noble class had been executed at the Condorcet Square bombings. "We have some bad news, I'm afraid, and it is well that so many of you are here to listen firsthand."

"Where is the queen?" A voice interrupted. Several others nodded in assent.

Anna turned her gaze about the room slowly. Her face was lit underneath by a gas lantern in the center of the table, the only light in the room lending even shadows to the walls and corners.

"That's the bad news, I'm afraid."

There were a few sharp intakes of breath.

"Elsa has been taken by the enemy."

"What do you mean?" One dockworker replied in a small-sounding voice.

"When Elsa left the city, she dictated a message that I'm sure you all remember well, even if you did not believe," Anna began. "Well, I assure you that everything she said was true. Arendelle has been through hell and back for three years now, and it isn't because we're unlucky. An ancient and powerful force has returned to the world, and it is determined to use dark magic to bring us all to our knees. A bit over one month ago, it dominated Elsa. She is in Everdark's service now."

"Can the spell be broken?" A plump woman asked.

"Theoretically, yes," Odette volunteered. "But we are not versed in dark magic. Elsa was freed from domination once before, by Hans, but that only happened when Hans defeated her master. That's not going to be easy this time."

"But surely, there has to be some other way," another man spoke up, voice colored by hope. Anna recognized him as Bennett Ross, an elderly schoolteacher who worked in one of Arendelle's public schools. He was well-liked and well-known, and had served for a few years in the House of Commons under the old government. "Couldn't we find someone who _does_ know about black magic?"

"Well, that's easier said than done, Ross, but of course that has crossed our minds," Anna said, inclining her head to him. "We are on the hunt for a dark witch with a long memory, but I doubt that we'll find what we're looking for."

"What's going to happen to us?" The same merchant woman said. "Are they coming for us next?"

"We have to be prepared for that possibility, yes," Anna said. "Which is why we've called this meeting. We will be preparing for the worst. That means that we want to be ready to defend ourselves from a large-scale attack, as soon as possible. We'll be sending word to any countries that will listen advising them to do the same."

"But what if the attack is like what happened to Corona, last year?" Ross said. "What if it is not an army they send for us, but magicians?"

Anna bit her lip for a moment before replying. "Odette and Kariena are both witches. They can help defend us if it comes to that, but we certainly… we hope that it won't." Some whispering broke out, but Anna continued, talking over them. "I'm not going to lie to you, nor am I going to try to sugarcoat the truth. We are in grave danger. There are ways that Everdark could attack us that we would be unable to defend ourselves against. But that just means that we're going to have to work even harder to stand our ground."

"General Tarson," Anna said, turning towards the tall man. He straightened his back.

"Yes, your highness?"

"How many men do we have in fighting shape, do you guess?"

"Less than two thousand, your highness. We've had… we lost the entirety of the royal guard to the Condorcet Square bombing, and morale has been low for three years now. We haven't had many recruits, and we've taken heavy losses."

"That won't do," Anna said, shaking her head. "We'll begin by asking for volunteers by formal decree, but if we don't reach five thousand strong we'll have to draft. We're going to need an army fit to defend these streets."

"Your majesty?" Tarson said, rubbing at his moustaches. "Five thousand might be enough to defend the city, but what about the outlands? How will we defend them?"

"We'll need to call them into the city in the event of an attack across the mountain pass," Anna said. "But more likely, the capital will be attacked directly along our exposed harbors," she indicated towards the two-hundred-and-seventy degrees of the city that lay exposed to the ocean on the map. "In that event, Fayborough and the rest of the magnet towns will be safer than we are."

"Will our armories be fit to equip so many men?" Another merchant asked. Anna vaguely seemed to recognize him from ritzy fundraising parties, years back. She remembered that Agnarr had liked him, but she didn't recall his name.

"No," Anna answered honestly. "We'll need the forges and gunsmiths working overtime. Hell, we'll all need to be working overtime. Just this morning, Vander gave the order to reorganize the public works crews to hunting and fishing, and while that order still stands, we're going to break off a third group to start constructing walls along the ports. I will not leave the city exposed to firebombing from occupying ships in the harbor."

"Will we have enough time for all of this, your majesty?" Vander found himself asking.

"I don't know," Anna said. "But we're sure as hell going to try."

xxx

Late that night, Odette stood on a balcony outside of Sadden's old bedroom, the one that she and Elsa had shared a few months ago. She gazed out to the horizon, wondering where Elsa was and what she was doing right now. Odette wondered if she was scared. If she could even think for herself.

Odette held an old leather scabbard in her hands, passing it over and over again, running her fingers along the worn letters inscribed into it. Time had deformed the casing, so it would probably no longer hold the sword it once did. Odette absently figured that Rimeheart was probably a completely different shape than Ashanerat's blade had been, anyway.

Elsa was the Protector now, so to her went the spoils. Odette wished that one of them had been an immunity to magic.

"You only ended up speaking two of the oaths," Odette said aloud. "I suppose that you never really got all of the way there."

She was silent for a minute or so.

"We really could have used you on our side. I really could have used you on my side. I get the feeling that if you were here, you'd know what to do. You'd have some plan that sounded better than surrounding our self with walls and waiting for them to be broken."

Odette felt her eyes sting. She blinked them shut.

"Fuck. I don't feel safe anymore, without you. Fuck everything. What did we do to deserve this mess?"

In a sudden rush of anger and hopeless despair, Odette threw Ashanerat's scabbard over the balcony, into the night air. It tumbled out of her vision and disappeared. She didn't hear it hit anything on the way down. Odette lowered her forehead to touch her arms, crossed on the balcony, and she let herself cry for a while.

Eventually, there was a knock at the door onto, and she forced herself to regain some composure and open it. It was Montaigne. He stepped out onto the balcony with her and clasped his hands over the balcony. He didn't say anything at first, just stared out into the void with a sad sort of smile.

"How much did you hear?" Odette asked, embarrassed that he'd probably heard her outburst, or her crying, or both.

"Fear and frustration are never emotions that we should be ashamed of, Odette," Montaigne said. He turned to look at her, and Odette noticed that his face looked incredibly haggard. She supposed that she probably did, too. "I was very sorry to hear about Elsa. We all were."

Odette turned back to the city. She couldn't meet his gaze for long. "I was so certain that she was invincible. I've actually told myself that, before. I didn't think that anything could stop her. I thought that she was a force of nature."

The corner of Montaigne's mouth tweaked upwards. "I've known her since she was very young. I once knew her to be a shy, frightened young girl, trapped inside herself by the weight of the world on her shoulders. It's really incredible what she became."

Odette realized the way they'd been talking, and forced herself to stop it. "She isn't dead yet. We shouldn't be referring to her in the past tense. She will come back to us. Somehow."

"Yes, when I came up here I'd been planning to spin you some sort of empty optimism like that," Montaigne said. "But I really do believe it. The only one we should mourn for tonight is Hans."

Odette nodded solemnly. "Kariena almost didn't want to go on, for a few days. I can't even imagine what it would be like, knowing you've really lost them, with no hope at all… I mean, at least I know that somewhere out there, Elsa's still alive."

"I had a conversation with Anna, the day after we learned that her parents had passed away," Montaigne said. "She asked me what was worth living for, anymore. She was trapped inside a palace with a sister who wouldn't speak to her, no friends, and no outside contact. Her parents had just died, and she was just about ready to be done with it all."

"Anna nearly killed herself?" Odette said, surprised and horrified. She'd always thought of Anna as the optimistic one out of her and her sister.

"Nearly, yes," Montaigne said. "Though once I talked her back from the brink, she never came close again."

"What did you say to her?" Odette asked softly.

"We can never be sure about what tomorrow brings," Montaigne said, "other than a new dawn. We can never know what the trail ahead brings, but we know that to get there we need take only one step at a time. We can never be sure that there will be happiness in our future, but we have only way to find out."

The old master servant turned to Odette and smiled. "We have to get there."


	27. Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

 _Work is more than just something to do. It keeps the mind healthy and happy. With nothing else to occupy it, madness festers._

* * *

Bedlay Port,

Arendelle

September 4th, 1843

Odette stood underneath an umbrella towards the edge of the pier. Sea spray misted her peacoat and her loose hair, salty and sorrowful as the grey sky overhead. It was a wet day, just like the many before it. Arendelle and the rest of Northern Europe had experienced record amounts of precipitation since… well, since Everdark had retaken the underworld. Odette wasn't convinced that the events were related, but Elsa had mentioned to her that in her visions of the past, the God of Darkness had been able to control the weather before. Constant rains were more benign than violent sandstorms, to be sure, but perhaps there was more to come for them.

"So, as you can see, ma'am, we were going to put the footprint along that line there, marked with the paint – er, well, at least what's left of the paint." The paint had largely been washed away, and there were several workers traipsing about at the muddy edge of the waterline beside the wooden pier, carving out a little gully with shovels.

The public works employees had been reassigned yesterday, and construction on the defense barricade was to begin today. Though Arendelle had never before been a warlike state with need for such defenses, General Tarson was familiar with naval fortresses of the Caribbean, and he had worked with civil engineers to draw up plans to fortify Arendelle's port. They were doing so in such a way as to still leave maximal access for trade vessels – in other words, they still anticipated to need an economy after this was all over. Odette wasn't so sure that enough of Arendelle would survive what was to come, but she appreciated the optimism.

"This all looks very well-implemented, John," Odette said to the man. She'd met him this morning. He was nice, but had a tendency to ramble on about technical details. Well, perhaps she was supposed to be paying attention to the technical details. Why did Vander ask her to supervise this, anyway?

 _Maybe they're trying to distract me,_ Odette thought. Anna and Vander _had_ been giving her simple, mindless tasks recently. _They probably think that I'd be too overwhelmed by grief to be of any help._

"Well, with your go-ahead, ma'am, we'll start laying the brick in just after I give the boys a bit of a break. They've been at it all morning, you see."

Odette nodded blankly. "Yes, John, that sounds fine." _That would be rather ridiculous of Anna,_ Odette thought. _Hell, if anything, she's probably just as emotionally ransacked as me, right now._

John nodded to her and hopped off the edge of the pier, barking orders to his men that Odette lost under a peal of thunder. She glanced out to the horizon. The sea was rough; waves in the distance were probably hitting ten or fifteen feet tall. She almost couldn't tell the difference between the sea and the sky, far enough out. It was all gray.

 _Maybe I_ am _too distraught,_ Odettethought. _It doesn't feel like I've had any good ideas since we've arrived back in Arendelle._ She passed the umbrella to her other hand; her left was getting sore. _Maybe there just isn't anything useful for me to be doing._

It was a surprisingly scary thought. Ever since that day she and Elsa had met on the campus of Lannister University and the queen had asked her to join the magistrate's council, Odette had constantly been struggling to keep her head above the water. She'd always been useful, often more useful than she was prepared for. She'd gone far beyond the call of duty in the service of Elsa and Arendelle. Now, all of a sudden, she was useless.

Well, useless until the end came for them. Odette supposed that when people started getting killed, she'd once again be called to service, struggling to keep Arendelle's beleaguered population alive. After another minute or so of contemplation, Odette turned and wandered aimlessly away from the docks. She wasn't sure where she was headed, but she wasn't needed here. She let her feet take her where they wanted, and lost herself in thought along the way.

Eventually, Odette found herself underneath the Saint Adelaide Cathedral. It was a twenty-five-minute walk from the wharf she'd left, but she remembered nothing of the way here. It was as if she'd simply shown up.

 _Maybe I'm hoping that Father Clement will be in,_ Odette thought. She started climbing the rain-slicked steps to the church, weaving her way through a group of people heading down. It was a Sunday, Odette remembered vaguely. There were services today, and Jean-Baptiste Clement wouldn't be able to see her. At least, not until later.

Well, that was fine. She had another reason for coming here, though it was admittedly something she'd been hoping to talk herself out of. She entered into the massive, vaulted foyer, and turned to the right, heading to the library. It was dusty and huge, set in a large room beside the apse. It was comprised of two subdivisions, the Chamber of Study, and the Chamber of Records. The Chamber of Study held philosophical treatises and nonfiction reading material, as well as the occasional novel that one of the monks purchased from a bookstore and squirreled away somewhere among the maze of shelves. It was far safer than keeping the book in one's own cubicle; if the novel was discovered among the library, it couldn't be traced back to any individual for punishment. Odette thought the whole practice of trying to deny the monks fiction was rather ridiculous. They were already sworn to incredibly chaste lives; couldn't they be allowed to live vicariously through a novel?

In any case, the Chamber of Records was what Odette entered into now; it was a bit older and a bit dimmer than the Chamber of Study, though it was still quite large. Built on the footprint of the old Saint Elias church that had once occupied this ground, the Chamber of Records had an eerie, still quality to it. It felt quite empty, despite the fact that Odette passed by several tables with seated monks, transcribing from massive, leather-bound texts labeled _Fayborough Shipping Manifests, 1621-1630_ and things like that. The work was rather dry, like the sort of thing someone would be condemned to do in purgatory. At least, that's what Odette thought about it.

She passed through to the very back of the chamber, where she and Elsa had entered into the catacombs to disinter Ceristo Siguror… what was it? Three months ago, now. Hell. It felt like far longer than that.

No one stopped her, to ask what she was doing. No one seemed to care. It was almost as if she wasn't there at all. Odette decided that, rather than use a torch like last time, she'd rather bring a lantern along, to reduce the chance of a spreading fire in case she dropped it. She wandered back into the library and took a lantern from a table set in a shadowy corner, hemmed in by several bookshelves. Once again, no one spared her a second glance as she returned to the black pit that led into the catacombs.

No less scared this time than she had been before, Odette tried not to overthink it and started down the crumbling old steps. A cold wind met her halfway, startling her and bringing with it a dusty, uncomfortable smell. She wondered if anyone had been down here in the time since she and Elsa had left. She raised the lantern as she kept going, keeping her eye towards the edge of the light's cast. It played across the floor at the bottom of the steps long before she reached it, and once again she found herself sticking to the wall as she entered the Saint Elias Church.

Still here were the burnt timbers that marked the remains of the old structure, still here were the massive cobwebs that clung to the base of the stone pillars that had replaced them. Odette carefully navigated around the webs, which in some places were thick enough to qualify as some sort of undergrowth. She didn't have an irrational fear of spiders, but she certainly wouldn't want to meet a large one down here.

The lantern gave a more even cast to her surroundings than the torch had done when she and Elsa had ventured down here before, and she got a better look at her surroundings. She was in the main room of worship, with old, rotted wooden pews still lined up in rows three meters ahead of her. As a matter of fact, she thought, raising her lantern and taking a few steps closer, right there on the other wall there was an old pulpit, and –

Odette dropped the lantern and barely stifled a scream of horror. The light went crazy as the lantern bounced and rolled away from her, the candle falling out of its stand and sputtering against the glass sides. Then, it was still, and the lantern's cast shone upon a corpse suspended several feet in the air above the altar. It was nailed to the wall with giant metal spikes, the kind that were used to hold railroad tracks in place, and covered with gristle and dried blood. A vulture's mask obscured the corpse's face.

Odette took a step backwards and turned away. She found herself staring into the yawning blackness of the corridor where Ceristo was buried, and suddenly panic overtook her. She turned and started to run towards the stairs, abandoning the lantern where it lay on the floor. Halfway towards the entrance, she felt a cold gust and the torches lighting either side of the arched doorway went out. She stuttered to a halt and felt real, raw terror.

For a moment, her brain was lucid enough to consider trying to hide. After all, it was near pitch-black down here, save the lantern, and there was a complex web of corridors addended to this one.

 _No,_ she realized, _whoever or whatever is in this room with me, has been here long enough to kill someone already. Their eyes have already adjusted._

So she backed into the measly ring of light that her lantern cast, and, with a shaking hand, retrieved it from the floor. She held it out at arm's length, swiveling in a full circle in a desperate attempt to pick a form out of the darkness. She couldn't see a thing.

But she could hear it, now. She could hear heavy breathing, besides her own, in the chamber. It seemed to come from everywhere at once. Odette backed up until her back touched a wall, and she held the lantern out like a ward and wished desperately that Elsa were here to protect her.

"There's no need to be afraid, child," a deep, thrumming voice sounded from beside the altar. Odette whipped the lantern around and cast light upon a horrible creature, standing beside the nailed corpse. It was huge and muscular, with the body of a horse and the head and wings of a vulture, like some sort of nightmarish monster from a tale meant to frighten children. It was a horrible freak of nature, not something that ever could have existed. And yet here it was, speaking to her with a cruel and wicked voice.

"At least, not yet," the creature said, smiling. It reached up with a human hand and gently caressed the side of the corpse's face before reaching up and removing the mask. Odette felt a wave of revolted sickness as she recognized Jean-Baptiste Clement's face. The eyes had been gouged out.

"You know him, child? Of course you do. He was Arendelle's personal man of God, wasn't he?" Everdark laughed callously. "Well, his God isn't around anymore to speak to. You see, I killed Him."

Odette knew that she should throw the lantern aside and run for the staircase. But she couldn't bring herself to move. Everdark continued, his voice rumbling in her chest and making her ribs ache.

"Father Clement was not clever enough to realize that his prayers were being answered by a different god. He was blindly faithful, a religious zealot. I rather… _enjoyed_ his enthusiasm."

Odette realized that she was shaking. The air had become freezing, and rather liquid, and each breath became more nauseating than the last. It was the same experience she'd felt when she'd touched Ceristo's amulet in these catacombs three months earlier, only now it was nonstop.

"I told him that he could bring peace to Arendelle if only he gave himself over to me…" Everdark turned back towards the corpse with a horrible, fond gaze. "I almost wish he hadn't been so easy to convince."

Everdark slowly turned back to Odette and stepped down from the raised stage the altar was set upon. "You see, I like a challenge. I've spent enough time losing to relish little victories, and I've gained an appreciation for the work it takes to really do something _right._ I'm convinced that finally, after all these years, now will be that time."

Instinctually, Odette found her magic and tapped it lightly, burning off the nausea with a warm, tingling sensation. Though she hadn't meant to do it in the first place, Odette found the process easy to maintain, and she started to back up towards the stairs, now.

"You're wondering why you're seeing me here, no doubt." Everdark's smile faded and was replaced with something more puzzled than anything else. "To be honest, I don't know the answer. Perhaps now that your friend Hans is gone, the universe is connecting me with someone else. But I don't find that likely. Hans and I were very compatible. His heart was full of repressed darkness, just waiting to be manipulated. But you've got a very light soul."

Talking about Hans so callously made Odette angry. _Fortune favors the bold._ She stopped retreating. "Where is Elsa?" She shouted forcefully.

Everdark stopped its advance, evidently startled by the sudden force with which she now confronted it.

"Where is she?" Odette repeated, widening her stance and even taking a step towards the God of Darkness. Somewhere inside, she knew that her movements were just posturing, anyway. Everdark wasn't actually here, in the catacombs under the Saint Adelaide Cathedral. If it were, the Arendanes would all be dead by now. This was nothing more than a lifelike aspect. An apparition.

Everdark overcame its shock and smiled again. "I never cease to be amused and impressed, in equal parts, by humanity. I had taken you for a coward, child. Now I can see that actually, you're rather brave."

Everdark's voice had become softer, more charismatic. _Insidious,_ Odette thought, shaking her head.

"Answer me!" She shouted.

Everdark laughed, and began to fade.

"NO!" Odette yelled, dashing towards the aspect. By the time she came close, however, it was already gone, rumbling laughter fading to vibrations in the floor and the walls. She came to a halt where moments before it had stood and screamed, frustration and rage and fear bringing tears to her eyes. She collapsed to her knees.

Suddenly, Everdark's voice was in her head once more. _You have one month._ _When it expires, I will kill you all._

And then it was gone.

Vaguely, she heard shouts and footsteps as monks rushed down the steps into the catacombs to see what the shouting was about. Odette barely noticed as a young, bald man rushed past her to the altar, stumbled to a halt when he realized what he saw, and vomited on the ground.

xxx

Elsa awoke. She gasped, her breath coming in ragged bursts, her head swimming and splitting with a violent headache. She groaned, and rubbed her face with her hands before looking up to see that she wasn't in a bed at all. In fact, for a moment she thought she was still dreaming.

She sat upon a massive, golden throne in a beautiful marble chamber. Corinthian supports outlined a walkway that approached the throne, finely sculptured with cherubs near the top. The roof had a large, rectangular cutout in the center, open to a brilliantly blue sky above. Indeed, the room itself had no walls, and in every direction, the same blue sky stretched as far as her eye could see. All the colors seemed slightly brighter-than-life, as if it were a master painter's fanciful rendition rather than something real. She felt woozy.

"Mistress?" A thin voice repeated.

Elsa turned and saw a tall, older man standing to her right, wearing robes that she recognized to be those of the Cult of Entropy. In an instantaneous flood of recollection, she remembered everything. A campaign of vengeance, waged through the realm of the immortals, and won at the edge of her sword. Death, destruction, fire. Burning eyes, and the endless thunderclaps that marked Rimeheart's kills.

Hans.

"Mistress?" The man said again. "Mistress, are you alright? You look rather ill."

She'd been dominated. How had she come back? Who had broken the bond? For a brief, elated moment, she thought: _they must have beaten Everdark. That's the only way!_ Then she realized how foolish that thought was. Everdark wasn't going to be defeated while she sat here in a plush palace in the clouds. Hell, if anything, Elsa dying in a battle somewhere would be the best sign that Everdark was approaching defeat. The former queen of Arendelle quickly forced her upwelling of emotions behind a cool mask and turned to the man.

"I'm quite alright, Verne," she said, the willowy man's name coming back to her along with the other memories. He was a wizard the Cult colloquially called an expendable – he had the power to pull magic towards himself, sort of like a giant red bullseye that enemy wizards were forced to go through before pursuing more important targets. Elsa vaguely recalled being sent into battle alongside expendables – Verne was, what? Her third? The first two had been… they'd done their duty.

"What were you saying, again? My mind was wandering."

Verne regarded her with some surprise, and she regretted her choice of words. Under Everdark's domination, she assumed, her mind wouldn't wander. Sometimes she wouldn't listen to Verne because Everdark would be speaking to her directly, but she would never simply lose focus.

"I said that the last rebels in the City of Brass have fallen. The Sea of Stars is ours, mistress."

Elsa forced herself not to think for too long before responding. The Sea of Stars was the dominion of the immortals. What humans would call heaven, mostly, though there were gates to pass from the Sea into the underworld. The astral realm was all more interconnected than most of human theology had presumed. Everdark had first retaken the underworld, using Elsa and the Cult of Entropy. Once it had been retaken, the God of Darkness had all the souls of the damned at its command.

Everdark had raised an army of undead to storm the Sea of Stars, literally billions strong. It encompassed every human who had ever lived and died and been judged unworthy of heaven, and it bowed to Everdark's command. Overwhelming forces had taken the immortals by storm and brought heaven to its knees. Just two days into the assault, God had been killed, slain by Everdark itself. Elsa wondered now if God's trust had been misplaced in her.

"That is good, Verne," Elsa forced herself to say. She stood, and looked down at herself. She wore a magnificent garment woven from golden thread, glowing and radiant. It consisted of a light, sleeveless wrap around her top and a long, sleek sarong – revealing in a confident, powerful sort of way. It reminded Elsa of the very first gown that she'd ever crafted herself from magic; not in appearance, but in dramatic flair. She tried not to make too much of a show of looking at her arms, but they were adorned with rich, diamond hand bracelets that stretched all the way back to her elbows. Her fingers held many golden rings.

 _Spoils of war, I suppose._ Down the center of the chamber was a long, still pool of water, raised a foot from the ground and laid with colorful tiles along the bottom. Elsa glanced down at her reflection and saw that she wore an elaborate headdress of golden leaves, woven into a crown at the top of her head and down the rest of her hair, which was worn loose down her back. Her makeup was exaggerated, too, with deep, smoky eyes and a blazingly red lip. Her entire being seemed to emit a shimmering aura, distorting the air around her slightly.

 _I look like a god,_ she wondered to herself. _Like a Greek goddess from some old storybook._

"Is that all that you wanted to tell me, Verne?" Elsa said, casting an imperious glance over her shoulder. Elsa realized that she needed to keep up the act, at least for now. Why wasn't she still being dominated? What had changed? She had no idea, but she didn't intend on blowing it before she had a chance to find out.

"Um, no mistress," Verne said, bowing his head slightly rather than meet her gaze directly. "The Master has given new orders. A gate has been found. We will soon be ready to re-enter the world."

"I see," Elsa said, trying not to feel a lump in her throat.

"The Master wishes to speak directly to you now," Verne said, quickly getting down to kneel upon the ground and place his forehead upon it. "He is coming."

There was a sudden rush of cold air, and with a powerful wingbeat, Everdark alighted upon the marble floor at the edge of the throne room.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Three

Author's Edit: Fixed a formatting error that I just noticed.

xxx

Chapter Twenty-Three

 _A wizard will pose the most danger to you if you cannot identify their knack. Once their powers are known, it will be far easier to predict what they will do and protect yourself against it. Surviving the first five seconds of a wizard's duel is a bigger feat than many realize._

 _Marina Blackheart_

* * *

The Hall of Glory

Sea of Stars

September 4th, 1843

"The time has nearly arrived, Protector," Everdark said, voice thrumming in the marble floor beneath Elsa's feet. "We will soon be ready to return to the Earth and reclaim what is rightfully ours."

The dark creature strode across the wide hall, sweeping one arm out to indicate the space around them. "In one month's time, our wizards will have prepared the ritual."

Elsa didn't know what to do. She had no idea how she should behave to convince Everdark that she was still dominated. Maybe now was her chance to try and fight. The fingers of her right hand tingled, and she felt Rimeheart, just beyond reality, floating in the aether and waiting to be drawn.

"In the meantime, I have need of your services, Protector." The vulture's eye seemed to narrow as it focused on her.

Elsa inclined her head, heart hammering in her chest. "Name your wish, Master," she said, keeping her voice as even as possible.

Everdark considered her for several moments, and then turned again, walking towards the edge of the hall. Over its shoulder, the god spoke to her. "Our forces have contained the remainder of the resistance in Nahat'Tiemn."

Nahat'Tiemn was the name of the magnificent palace in the center of the City of Brass. Though Elsa had not seen it yet, she had heard fanciful rumors that it was infinitely tall, rising endlessly into an ocean of clouds above the city. If the rumors were true, being contained in the tower would mean little. Resisters could evade Everdark's forces as long as they could climb floors faster.

"That is…"

"Not much of an accomplishment," Everdark finished for her, a flicker of annoyance crossing its voice. "But we do not want to risk their survival. There is some number of wizards among the resisters, and our forces were unable to classify all of them. As long as there are unknown powers holding out against us, our position is not truly safe."

During her time serving with Everdark's forces, Elsa now remembered, she had learned more about magic than she had during the rest of her life. Though scholars of magic were all but extinct on Earth, experts were plentiful in the Sea of Stars, and their particular branch of knowledge was often in demand.

Called _arcanists,_ scholars of magic had classified several major branches of magic, into which most individual knacks fell. _Elementalists_ , like Elsa, could manipulate one, or sometimes more, natural forces. Cryomancers controlled ice, geomancers controlled stone, animists controlled plant life. And so on. _Psions_ could manipulate energy. Elsa was already familiar with the more obvious psionic powers – she'd fought some of the more typical psions who used their knack to create energy weapons – but she'd recently learned that shieldhearts, with their ability to manipulate energy fields to protect themselves, were also considered psionic wizards.

 _Martial_ wizards could push their body to ridiculous extremes for short periods of time – Hans had been able to move at great speed. _Neuropaths_ were a broad family of witches and wizards that collectively shared the ability to manipulate something with only their mind. Telepaths, telekinetics, and even chroniclers, with their infallible memories, were considered neuropaths.

Unfortunately, magic defied scholarship. Arcanists had quickly learned that magic could express itself through a seemingly endless variety of knacks, many of which weren't easy to categorize. Even within some of the categories, like neuropathy, different abilities could be related little more than tangentially, and there were many other ways to classify individual knacks. For example, some knacks were _consumptive_ – they burned calories when used – and some were _retentive_ – they didn't. All told, it was enough to frustrate some arcanists enough to abandon scholarship entirely.

The point was that wizards with unidentified knacks were very dangerous to Everdark's plans. Because no one could really predict how any individual wizard's powers could manifest themselves, Everdark couldn't truly claim the Sea of Stars safely until the wizards in Nahat'Tiemn were captured – or at least identified to be known classifications of wizards that didn't pose a significant threat. It was a matter of some debate among arcanists how influential one wizard could really ever be – that is, if there was some knack out there, waiting to be discovered, that bestowed upon its wizard truly god-like abilities – but all agreed that uncertainty, and therefore risk, was very high.

"I am deploying you and a small team of my elite forces to the tower, Protector. You will pursue the resisters until their supplies run out and they cannot continue, and then you will kill them all."

Elsa processed what Everdark said for a moment. "This… this will not be a short assignment, master."

"No," Everdark replied. "Eventually we will require your assistance in the conquest of Earth, but you are more needed here, immediately. Do not worry. Glory still awaits you, child."

With that, Everdark reached the edge of the Hall of Glory and took to flight again, quickly fading to a speck in the far distance. Elsa watched the God of Darkness go, frowning to herself. Everdark was looking for something to occupy her. It was afraid that if she was part of the first advance on Earth, someone she encountered would be able to free her from her domination.

Was Arendelle the first target?

Elsa felt a fresh wave of fear. What did Arendelle possess that would make it a valuable strategic target? Or was it simply spite? How prepared would Anna and Odette and the others be for what was to come? Did they even realize how much danger they were in? She raised a hand to her head but stopped herself halfway. She couldn't appear weak.

Elsa turned and cast an imperious gaze at Verne, the edge of her sarong swishing on the marble floor. "Very well, Verne. You heard the master's orders. To the City of Brass we go."

Verne bowed deeply to her. "Yes, mistress. The wargate will be open shortly."

xxx

Wargates were yet another tool of Everdark's forces that would have seemed absurd and fantastical to her six months ago, yet by now were something routine. Created by a special sort of wizard that the former queen wasn't familiar with, the portals allowed instantaneous transportation to any other location with a wargate. Complex rituals were required to maintain their presence, so usually one gate would be kept open at a desired destination, and temporary gates would be used here and there to centralize forces quickly.

As Elsa stepped out of the wargate in the City of Brass, she fought back the now-familiar sense of nausea that accompanied their use. One of Verne's predecessors had told her that the discomfort from using wargates would fade, eventually.

The warm weather was a sudden shock to her senses. The Hall of Glory – Elsa's new throne room, and the center of the dominion that Everdark had gifted her – was very high in the Sea, and cold, with a thin atmosphere. The City of Brass, on the other hand, was bathed in a tropical heat that to Elsa felt sweltering. She looked around the platform that they had emerged onto and saw that it was really a massive platform for stairs that led up to Nahat'Tiemn. It was the first of five platforms, the other four arranged in a diamond shape, that broke up a parade of stairs leading to the palace that stretched several miles long.

The platform they were on was large enough itself to house a wealth of buildings and a bustling marketplace. There was a surprising number of humans packed into the crowds milling about, Elsa thought. _How did all these people get here?_ She still had no idea if there were humans native to the Sea of Stars. So much about this place seemed larger-than-life, impossible.

"Why is the marketplace still active?" Elsa asked Verne, as they began to strike a path through the middle. "Aren't we an occupying force?"

"Yes, mistress," Verne replied. "But the Master has an interest in keeping the City of Brass as a bustling trade hub. It may not be the center of the Sea geographically, but all roads lead to its gates, mistress. It will be here that we perform the ritual of re-entering, and it will be through this city that we supply our armies."

Elsa cast her gaze around. Whenever she met someone's eyes, they quickly bowed their gaze. "But why do things seem so… normal? We've ousted their government, killed most of their leaders…"

"I cannot say, mistress," Verne replied. "They say that people of the Sea of Stars are fickle, much like the sprites and djinn they live amongst. Perhaps they do not much care which regime rules over them, so long as that regime keeps the gates of trade open."

Elsa nodded. "And why won't anyone meet my gaze? You included, Verne."

Verne seemed surprised to be asked such a question. "Well, mistress, the Master is now the Emperor of the Sea of Stars. The Master has granted you dominion over the realm of Honor. You… you are now an immortal, mistress. They can see your luminescence, and they turn down their heads out of respect for the power that you wield."

Elsa glanced down at herself again. The golden light that she had previously thought was emitted by her clothes was actually rising from her skin. _Oh my._

"An immortal?" She said, voice slightly strained.

"Yes, mistress. Part of the new order that the Master has instated. Age can no longer claim you, though grievous wounds still will. You now have the body of a god. You will never again take physical illness, and you will never tire of physical activity. You will be stronger than you ever were before. You cannot be poisoned. Things like this." Verne said it all matter-of-factly, as if he'd prepared to have this conversation. He glanced over at her, still careful to not-quite meet her eyes. "I'd been expecting you to ask questions of these sort for several weeks now. You are rather uncurious, mistress."

There was a wry tone in the way he spoke that suddenly made Elsa miss Montaigne. She was a very long way from home.

"Well," Elsa said, holding one hand out and wiggling bejeweled fingers. "This is an interesting twist."

Was it her new immortality that freed her from domination? Wouldn't Everdark be able to anticipate something like that? If so, why risk it?

They had come now to the stairs again, and Elsa looked up towards Nahat'Tiemn. It was still a long ways in the distance. The tower was made of gleaming, brilliant metal that glowed a liquid gold color, though Elsa figured that it was probably brass. It was complicated and ornately architecture, with pleasant, symmetric carvings and exterior columns, balustrades and balconies. It was dazzlingly beautiful, and explicitly impossible. She turned her head upwards, and her gaze followed the tower into the clouds. She felt a sudden wave of dizziness looking up at the massive thing, hurdling into the sky farther than she could stretch her neck even from several miles away.

"It's quite spectacular, isn't it?" Verne said softly.

"You can say that again," Elsa replied.

They met several more members of their retinue on the second platform at the beginning of the large diamond shape constructed by the staircase. To the side, off the edge of the staircase, which was itself hundreds of feet wide, there stretched a cultivated expanse of jungle. The cacophonous sound of the fauna was all but covered by the continuous din of people crowding the stairs. Little boys sat at the very edge, seemingly oblivious to the height of the precipice upon which they perched, mimicking the cries of monkeys they heard in the treetops below.

Colorful birds of paradise flew overhead, squawking and occasionally swooping down to take a swipe at a basket of fruit set out in the market. Three trumpeting elephants were led past Elsa and Verne down the stairs by a harassed-looking handler. The City of Brass seemed conspired to be a continuous, sensory overload.

Captain Gadot met them as they stepped around the elephants. He was a tall, militant-looking man with a pair of soldiers behind him. The only indication that they were associated with the Cult of Entropy came from small emblems on the breast of their coats. The little marker had recently been sewn on; these troops had only recently entered into Everdark's service. Elsa didn't envy the heavy outfits that they wore in this heat, but if the soldiers were uncomfortable, they didn't show it. Gadot snapped to attention and saluted Elsa crisply.

"Mistress Immortal! I'm pleased to see that you've arrived on schedule. Captain Gadot the special forces division, pleased to serve." He motioned that they should continue walking and fell into step beside them. His pair of soldiers spread out into the crowds around, presumably to watch for assassins. "I trust that you've had a bit of time to take in the city's splendor?"

"Yes," Elsa said, glancing around. "Though I'd rather like something cool to drink, if you can provide it," she said honestly. "It's a bit hotter here than I'm used to."

"Certainly, mistress," Gadot said. He turned and whistled, and promptly one of his soldiers materialized at the edge of the throng. "Get the lady a drink, Scarif," he barked, and the man disappeared once more.

"Are you from the city, captain?" Elsa said. He looked rather Arabic, as did most of the humans that she'd seen. Her pearly white skin stood out here, but she supposed that her immortal glow probably did the trick, too.

"Yes, mistress. Born and raised on these streets. I plan on bringing up my own family here someday, too." That raised more questions than it answered for her, really. How did humans get to the Sea of Stars in the first place? Magic? Something else? Briefly, she wondered whether humans were native to this realm, and had merely come to populate Earth at some point along the way.

Unsettling.

"We managed to get all the fighting back to Nahat'Tiemn two days ago," Gadot was continuing. "Which is nice, because the markets were starting to lose some business. We had a team of artificers working around the clock to repair the structural damage that had been done, but the forces of Entropy are remarkably efficient."

As he spoke, Elsa glanced at the ground beneath their feet. There were no chipped tiles in the colorful tile mosaic, nor were their any stains from blood or scorch. Even more so than the abused wife who puts makeup on her arms to cover up bruises, the City of Brass was doing an excellent job of concealing its wounds.

Elsa missed some of what Gadot was saying to her.

"You'll have to be careful once you enter Nahat'Tiemn," Elsa heard when she began paying attention again. "We sent in some scouts ahead of our pursuant force yesterday and discovered their bodies this morning. They might be running, but they are still dangerous."

"Warning heeded," Elsa replied. "Did the bodies show any distinctive signs of damage?"

"Just wounds from traditional weapons, as far as we could tell," Gadot replied.

"But you're absolutely certain that a wizard is among the ranks of the resisters?" Elsa asked.

"Quite certain, mistress. The city is ruled by a council of five wizards, and one of them disappeared into the tower along with his young child once it became clear that our forces were going to take the city. We've made quite sure that there was no opportunity for escape. They've nowhere to go but up."

Elsa nodded. "Very well. Were you planning on sending anyone into the tower with me? Troops, or some other sort of escort?" She was beginning to formulate something of a plan. It was probably foolish, but she at least felt like she needed _something_ to work towards.

"Yes, we had arranged for a supply caravan, as well as a retinue of armed guards and a few more expendables, if we can manage to round them up."

Elsa frowned thoughtfully. "I'd like the group to be as small as possible. I'd like to travel lighter than our quarry, if possible, so that we can gain on them faster."

Also, she hoped that with a smaller group in tow, it would be easier to convince her companions to spare the beleaguered resisters.

"That sounds wise, mistress," Gadot said, bowing his head. "If you think that you will be safe enough with only one expendable, we can cut down there, and…"

"Find me soldiers who wouldn't mind hauling a pack, as well. Try to halve the company of the supply train and the troops and get them to pull double-duty. Pay them two salaries if you must."

"Yes, mistress," Gadot promised.

"And have them ready soon," Elsa replied, gazing up at the mind-bending tower in the distance. "I want to start after them as soon as possible."

xxx

Anna sat behind Agnarr's old desk. There were few relics that the royal family had been able to recover from the burning of the palace, but Agnarr's sturdy old desk had been one of them. It was wooden, but it was a thick tough wood, nearly black in color (Anna didn't have the slightest clue exactly _what_ type of wood it was made out of), and it had survived. Some restoration specialists had managed to repair some of the smoke damage and get rid of the char, and it was ready for service once more.

Elsa had always told Anna that she'd hated this desk. It reminded her, Elsa would say, of what a great and terrible shadow she had to fill. Anna had never understood that. Granted, Anna remembered their parents more fondly than Elsa did, and with good reason. Agnarr and Iduna had never, in clouded judgment, locked _her_ away for years.

She traced her hands along the weathered surface and sighed. _What would dad say, if he were here? Would he have any idea what to do?_

When Elsa had left to go chasing after Everdark's minions, Anna had pushed the duty of leading off to an eighty-year old man because she didn't want to bear the responsibility of leading her people.

 _I mean, I'm also pregnant,_ she thought. _But with things going as badly as they are, I'm not sure that gives me permission to check out._

A knock at the door broke the redheaded princess from her introspection. She smiled when she saw it was Kristoff.

"Hey. You're just in time to distract me from some real soul-searching."

Kristoff knew her well enough to realize it was a joke, and he played along. "Well, I do pride myself on my ability to make the people around me duller."

He took a seat on the other side of the desk and set a sheaf of papers down on it.

"What is this?" Anna asked, flipping them around and opening the cover. Inside was a rather dull-looking cover page to a bureaucratic document titled _Practicable methods for funding wartime expenditures without raising income tax._

"I dunno," Kristoff said, waving a hand. "We commissioned the work from some mathematician at the university. Turns out, that at the end of the day, we're still gonna need to figure out a way to pay for all the overtime work the public works employees have been doing building the wall. This guy came up with some ways to do it without raising taxes, I suppose."

"That can't be why you're here," Anna said.

Kristoff mocked affront. "Do I need a reason to come visit my beautiful wife?"

Anna forced down a smile and half-lidded her eyes the way Elsa did when she was pissy at someone. "Flattery will get you nowhere. Now I'm going to look down upon you from my high horse and make you feel bad because you aren't as perfect as me," she said, doing her best to affect Elsa's voice.

She and Kristoff both laughed.

"Anyway, Anna, you are perceptive as always," Kristoff said. "I _think_ that I have an idea for where we might be able to find some extra wizards to defend the city."

Anna frowned. "Oh, no, you don't mean –"

"Hear me out for a minute," Kristoff said, raising his hands. "I know that the Jotun aren't necessarily the friendliest creatures around –"

"I have no problem with Bulda," Anna said. "But if you think for one second that the others –"

"Look," Kristoff interjected. "It's worth a shot."

"The Grandfather refused to order his people to stop attacking our woodsmen!" Anna said, becoming incensed.

"They're frost giants!" Kristoff exclaimed. "Besides, they've never killed anyone."

"Not recently!" Anna said, exasperated. "But they have no problem ransoming prisoners back to us."

"I knew that you wouldn't love this idea," Kristoff said. "But just let me try. I'm still welcome among them. Just let me go, and talk to The Grandfather, and figure out if we see eye to eye on this thing. Alright?"

Anna frowned, and then blew a strand of hair out of her face. "Fine. Just don't get yourself killed. Or promise them anything stupid."

Kristoff smiled. "That's always the plan, sweetheart."


	29. Chapter Twenty-Four

Author's Note:

Many apologies, dear reader! It seems these Tuesday morning uploads are becoming just as common as Monday ones! I promise that the upload schedule is still for Mondays, and I'll try to be better about adhering to it. This chapter ended up undergoing sort of a late-process rewrite, so I was still wrapping that up this morning. Anyway, please enjoy! :)

xxx

Chapter Twenty-Four

 _The Arendanes discovered the existence of the Jotun tribe upon the north mountain during Cerendon Siguror's rule, some time around 986 AD. For many years, the two peoples lived peaceably in coexistence, their contact to each other limited by design. It was not until Balladon Siguror's rule three hundred years later that the peoples of Arendelle began to hunger for a conquest of the ice giants._

 _The History of Arendelle, 3_ _rd_ _ed._

* * *

Northern Foothills,

Arendelle

September 7th, 1843

Kristoff trudged up the muddy incline, choosing his path carefully so as not to slip. Trees were spaced ten feet or more apart in this part of the forest, and their roots spread deep rather than wide, so the constant rains had turned the northern foothills into a messy sludge. Kristoff was worried about the constant rain. He'd spent enough time in the wild to know that nature thrived upon a delicate balance. The rains would drown the scrub, so the rabbits and deer would starve. The wolves would be unable to find prey, so they'd move down the slopes of the mountain and start harrying farmers. Farmers would start shooting the wolves. The balance would be lost, maybe forever.

Kristoff adjusted his hood as he crested the hill and cast his gaze around the surrounding terrain. He hadn't been to the Jotun camp for… three years, now? He always told himself that he'd make his way back someday, but it there always seemed to be something more important on the horizon. The Jotun weren't a nomadic people, however, and even now Kristoff noticed a familiar cleft in an old oak tree that marked the edge of the ice giants' domain. He started to pick his way down the slope, careful not to slip.

Back in Arendelle, unpleasant days were on the horizon. The abrupt, brutal death of Father Jean-Baptiste Clement had cast a dark mood over the city. Anna was worried that the populace was growing close to panic. It certainly felt like a tinderbox, waiting for a single spark. Kristoff was worried to be abandoning the city during such a time, but really, what was he going to do about the impending disaster? If he wanted to help Arendelle, the best way to do it was to bring back a promise of aid from The Grandfather.

Kristoff scanned the trees. His old tracker's instincts were kicking in, and he could make out faint traces of a path in the distance. It was the sort of thing that took a practiced eye; even a skilled woodsman would have struggled to notice a broken branch here, scuffled undergrowth there, and construct a coherent narrative from it all. But Kristoff was hardly new to these wilds. In fact, there was something refreshing about being free from the city. It had always been stifling to him.

One day, after this was all over, he'd get Anna and their child to that cottage in the foothills. _Then,_ he'd be living.

Kristoff started down the pathway. It forged a corridor through the forest, taking him deeper into the heart of the wood. Here, the canopy was thicker, and the rains filtered through only as an incessant pitter-patter of droplets tipped off of leaves. A twig snapped behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder. A doe crossed onto the trail, turning to gaze directly at him. It didn't seem frightened. Humans didn't make it this deep into the forests of the north mountains. The animal probably hadn't ever seen one before.

Kristoff turned and continued to walk, feeling himself grow more apprehensive with each passing moment. It bothered him. The Jotun weren't dangerous. At least, not the way that people tended to think they were. Yes, they could be rather unfriendly sometimes, but at the end of the day they tended to be pleasant once you got to know them. Knowing an ice giant long enough to get familiar with them was easier said than done, however. As far as Kristoff knew, he was the only human The Grandfather had ever allowed to live amongst them.

So why should he be nervous? After all, he knew them all by name. Something had changed during the last three years, though. He'd grown… soft. _All this living among bluebloods._

There was a disturbance in the trees to his left. Unsubtle, which meant the giant was alarmed by his presence. Kristoff turned just as the massive creature stepped onto the path. Standing nearly eight feet tall and as thick as two large men, this particular giant was rather small among the Jotun. Humanoid, but with rough, mottled grey skin – almost like stone – and with thick, heavily braided hair, the giant wore simple clothing woven from hemp, and bore a spear far larger than one an infantryman could carry, slung across its back with a strap.

Kristoff recognized this particular giant.

"Puca?" He said, surprised. She'd grown so much since he'd last seen her.

"Kristoff?" She replied, her deep, inhuman voice raw with disbelief. Most of the Jotun could speak English, although they preferred to converse in their own tongue. Kristoff could understand the language, though he couldn't speak it. Too many of the tongue's phonemes required a 'multi-throated fricative' that was impossible for a human to reproduce. "We didn't think that you would ever come back!"

"Well, Puca, I –"

"The Grandfather told us that you'd want to live among the humans, once you'd found that girl, but Bjoldhhe always held out hope –" Puca said, referring to Bulda by her real name, rather than the anglicized one.

"I'm not back, Puca," Kristoff said, cutting her off with a pained wince. "I… The Grandfather is right. I live with the humans now."

Puca's face fell. Most humans weren't able to read emotions in the faces of the Jotun, but to Kristoff that seemed ridiculous. Their eyes were deep and expressive, each iris possessing a bright swirl of many colors at once.

"Oh," she said. "Why are you here, then?"

Kristoff was grateful for the chance to turn the conversation in another direction, and he began to walk again, in the direction of the Jotun camp. "I need to speak with The Grandfather. It's urgent."

Puca fell into step beside Kristoff. He'd forgotten in his time away from the giants how silently they managed to walk, given their formidable stature. Of the pair of them, walking side by side, he was probably the one making more noise.

"You're coming on behalf of the queen, then, aren't you?" Puca said, not bothering to hide the distrust in her voice. Centuries ago, several of Elsa's ancestors had attempted to enslave the Jotun. The giants had long memories, and a deep-seated distrust of the throne was passed down from generation to generation.

"On behalf of all of Arendelle," Kristoff replied. "And I can assure you that conquest is the last thing on our minds right now."

"Ah, but until you fully put it _out_ of your minds, you are a threat to us," Puca said. "The Grandfather will grant you a meeting, Kristoff, if only because it is not our way to turn away a friend. Even a former friend. But do not expect to receive aid simply because you need it."

Kristoff didn't have a response to that, so they lapsed into silence until they came to the camp. The words 'former friend' stung him, but he supposed they were justified. After all, these people had taken him in when no one else would, and yet he abandoned them as soon as he was welcome among human society once more. It was an unpleasant thought, and far more selfish than Kristoff liked to think of himself as.

The Jotun camp was much as Kristoff remembered it. Dwellings were long, and well-constructed from wicker-wood and long-dried mud bricks. Some of the more important buildings, near the center of the concentric circles that made up the camp, had shingled roofs, though the shingles themselves were made of rough-cut, uneven stone. The Jotun had little desire to use more exacting tools than ones they could fashion for themselves, and as such their way of life had not advanced significantly for the better part of a millennium.

There were great thinkers among the giants, to be sure, but they were wise, rather than smart. It was a distinction that the Jotun were likely to make, all the while reminding an impulsive youth that the world had existed long before them, and would keep plodding along for quite a while afterwards, too. For the most part, the Jotun believed that things were the way they were as a matter of design, and that those who struggled to dramatically change the world around them were destined to learn that change was harder to affect than people tended to think.

There weren't many giants around the camp, but the Jotun were hunter-gatherers, so Kristoff hadn't expected much in the way of a reception. The few that were noticed him, but they didn't make a show of it. In fact, none of the giants seemed willing to meet his eye.

"Nobody seems to want to look at me," Kristoff said softly. He wasn't sure if he wanted response from Puca, but she didn't give one, regardless.

They eventually came to the tallest building in the camp – in fact, it was the only one two stories tall, mostly for reasons of ritual significance. Puca stepped forwards and rapped three times on the frame of the doorway, the traditional knock to signal the arrival of a visitor. From behind the veil of glass beads that filled the giant-sized doorway, a voice called.

"Come in."

Puca parted the beads for Kristoff and he stepped inside. The young giant did not follow after him. Kristoff stepped into a wide, circular room with four doorways towards the back. Those would lead into other chambers, and one would house the staircase that led up to the second floor. That was where The Grandfather kept residence. This chamber was filled with the scent of incense and the bright colors of the woven tapestries that lined the walls and kept the room pleasantly warm.

A fire pit was in the center of the chamber, though today it was just an ashy circle of rocks. Beyond it sat The Grandfather, cross-legged and with eyes closed, deep in meditative thought. The giant appeared exactly the same as Kristoff remembered him; ancient, though with an odd, timeless air about him that made him seem as if he would live forever. His hair was fully white and braided elaborately; his beard was woven with old bones and beads and other elements of the wild. His eyes, when they opened to consider Kristoff, were still brilliant bolts of blue and green.

"Young Kristoff," The Grandfather said. "I will entertain myself a moment of childlike naivete and exclaim, 'It seems as if Bjoldhhe was right all along! Here is Kristoff, back to live with the Jotun after all.'"

Kristoff sat cross-legged, across from the wizened old giant. Though The Grandfather was among the smallest of the Jotun, few felt larger than a child in his presence. He did not reply, because he knew that it would not be wise to do so.

The Grandfather considered Kristoff for a moment before speaking again. "It is good that you did not rejoin me with a quip there, I think. Perhaps your acidic tongue has finally began to wear itself out, hmm?"  
"I have learned that there is a time and a place for wit, Grandfather. This is not the time."

"Nor the place, I might add," The Grandfather grumbled. "But good. I approve. What, may I ask, does the queen of Arendelle desire so badly that she sends you to us?"  
Kristoff didn't want to get to that, at least not immediately. "Where is Bulda?" He said. "Normally she's somewhere in the camp."

"Bjoldhhe is past the age of childbearing," The Grandfather said. "Two years ago, she elected to become a gatherer. If she was not in the camp somewhere, then she is in the forest, I presume."

Kristoff nodded, but he wished that she was here. She'd always been the easiest to speak to among the Jotun. It helped, of course, that she'd raised him as one of her own.

"I come on behalf of all of Arendelle," Kristoff said again. "Queen Elsa is… gone."

This caught The Grandfather's attention. He looked up from under a thick brow, his eyes spectral and searching. "Gone?"  
"I'm sure that you've noticed all the rain that we've been having," Kristoff said.

"Yes," The Grandfather admitted. "It is an inclement weather pattern, the likes of which we have not seen even in my own lifetime. A moon and a half of rain. It kills our plants, drowns our trees. I assume that your people will have food shortages this winter."

"Yes, we're going to have to confront that, if we make it to the winter in the first place."

The Grandfather frowned. "What do you mean?"

Kristoff wasn't surprised that the wizened giant would act obtuse; the oldest among the giants liked to make a riddle of conversation.

"The rains are just the messenger," Kristoff said. "An ancient and powerful force of evil is regaining power as we speak. Soon, it will return to the world, and we must be prepared for its wrath. This is why I come to you, Grandfather. In this new world, tribal disputes between men and Jotun will be nothing compared to the struggle to survive."

The Grandfather narrowed his eyes. "Do you know a man called Wulfric Shaw?"  
Kristoff blinked. "No. I've never heard that name before."

The Grandfather rubbed at his chin. "He was a recent visitor."

'Recent' visitor could mean that the man had come to the Jotun anytime between yesterday and a decade ago, given the timescale that The Grandfather tended to think upon.

"He told us something similar."

Kristoff pushed. "Grandfather, I know that you have no particular love for the people of Arendelle. But our differences will not seem so vast, when weighed against our common need for survival. Among your people are many fine wizards. Among our people are many fine warriors. Together, we stand a chance of fighting back the darkness. United, we are stronger than either of us could be alone."

The Grandfather scowled. "I never said that I believe the claims you and Shaw make to me, Kristoff. I never said that I accept your claim that our world is threatened by an ancient and otherworldly evil."

Kristoff had to bite back a reply. He'd never gotten The Grandfather to change his mind simply by repeating his argument.

There was a long lapse of silence, during which The Grandfather retrieved a pipe, filled it with tobacco, and lit it. The ice giant inhaled deeply, and then blew an intricate ring of smoke towards the ceiling. Two more followed before he spoke again.

"I will admit to you, Kristoff, that my mind was already settled on this matter before you ever arrived. When the monk Wulfric Shaw told us the same story, I asked myself whether the man had any incentive to deceive us. Though his tale was fantastical, sometimes truth is indeed strange, and I determined to myself that the man had little to gain by lying. After all, he made no request of us, asked us for nothing other than belief."

The Grandfather returned his piercing gaze to Kristoff. "So I decided that, if the threat was as serious as Shaw claimed, then eventually an Arendane would come to us and demand assistance. I was wrong in assuming that the queen herself would make this journey, but according to you she is…"

The Grandfather raised a stony eyebrow.

"Gone," Kristoff supplied, realizing that he'd never finished threading that earlier. "She was… taken, by the darkness. Not dead, but no longer able to protect us."

"No longer an ally," the giant mused. "I decided that an Arendane demanding assistance would confirm the veracity of Shaw's tale. Already some time ago now, I convened a council of the elders, and they have determined that we will join you in our fight."

Kristoff started. He hadn't expected to have to argue the point with The Grandfather; after all, arguing rarely did much to change the old giant's mind. But he hadn't expected a decision to already have been made. These things did not happen quickly among the Jotun.

"We are not fools," The Grandfather said, more softly. "Our seers have seen that a great desolation is on the horizon for quite some time, now. Many of the other Jotun are not so hesitant to accept change as I. You are right, young Kristoff. Together we must stand."

Kristoff felt a wave of relief. He'd done something. He had no idea whether it would be enough, but he'd done _something._ He bowed his head.

"Thank you, Grandfather."

xxx

Elsa sat at a dusty table with an old book open upon it. Unlike most of the volumes in this library, this one was slim, and rather small. It was not embossed with gold lettering, and its cover was made of a rather cheap leather that was fraying in several places. This was theh first library that they had come to in Nahat'Tiemn, but surely there would be several more to come. Hell, if the tower was really infinitely tall, didn't that mean that there were by definition a countless number of libraries contained within its depths?

That was a question for a logician, not a queen. Odette had spoken to Elsa a bit about mathematics before, but it wasn't Odette's field of expertise, and to boot Elsa didn't really care much about it anyway, but she remembered that Odette had said something about how mathematics wasn't actually well-defined in terms of infinities. Apparently, some forward-thinking mathematicians claimed that that thinking about infinity was the future of the field. It all sounded pretty ridiculous to Elsa.

"What are you reading, mistress?" Verne asked, sliding into a seat on the other side of the table and adjusting the shutter on the lantern she'd set on the table.

"A journal," Elsa replied, turning a page. "It seems that one of our quarries accidentally left it behind when they passed through here. Based on the date on the last entry, it seems we're about two weeks behind them."

"They're traveling lighter than us, I'm afraid," Verne said. "So they'll probably pull further ahead."

"Yes," Elsa replied. "We're also probably spending more time sleeping than them. Or at least, we _should_ be."

"I couldn't sleep, mistress," Verne said apologetically. Indeed, the rest of the caravan was snoring peacefully in the next room over, where they'd found a wing full of private residences. Here near the ground floors, there were plenty of places to house guests in Nahat'Tiemn. Elsa imagined that those probably went away as you got higher into the tower.

"You'll need your rest, Verne," Elsa said. "We've got an exciting day of walking for twelve hours ahead of us tomorrow. We'll even get a few breaks in there!"

Interestingly, Elsa had found that one of the gifts immortality had bestowed upon her was a seeming lack of the need to sleep. Indeed, though she still felt exhausted at the end of the day, she seemed to be able to refresh herself with a few hours of meditation, or some other restful activity.

"You know, mistress, you certainly aren't what I expected you to be," Verne said. The older man smiled slightly. Despite swearing to herself not to grow fond of any of Everdark's servants – they were in the service of truly _abhorrent_ master, after all – Elsa had grown to like Verne. He was surprisingly earnest, and real. He was likeable. "Most of my masters so far have been… rather uncompromising."

"Well, Verne, I've always been more of a 'soft touch' kind of girl," Elsa replied, using her finger to trace one of the lines from the journal. "We know that they plan to send forces after us," she read aloud, "so our chances of survival are very slim. We can only hope that salvation will come in the unexplored floors of Nahat'Tiemn."

Elsa glanced over at Verne. "How is that possible?"  
"Mistress?" He replied.

"That there are unexplored floors of this tower? I mean, I understand that its supposed to be infinitely tall, but didn't _someone_ have to construct it? Have the architectural plans just been lost to time?"

"I'm not sure, mistress," Verne said honestly. "I'm just as unfamiliar with the Sea of Stars as you. But if I had to guess, I would assume that no creature, mortal or otherwise, constructed Nahat'Tiemn. I believe that the tower simply _was_ , and we came to inhabit it over time."

The thought made Elsa feel very far from home.

"I've only spent two and a half days in this place, Verne, but I don't like it," she said.

"I don't like it either, mistress."

"The Master is trying to get rid of me," Elsa said softly, referring to Everdark by the same title that the Cult of Entropy tended to use. "It knew that this wild goose chase would take longer than the ritual of re-entering."

"Are you worried that you're going to miss out on the glory of being one of the first conquerors?" Verne asked.

"No," Elsa replied. "But there are people I love back on Earth, and I'm just wondering if I'll ever see them again." She'd read something in the very journal that she now spun in trails of dust on the old library table that gave her hope, and a plan for escape. But it was risky, and probably foolish.

"The Master has promised that no harm will come to the loved ones of his dutiful servants," Verne said, voice conciliatory. Elsa had heard this before. She didn't trust it. "So it's a matter of _when,_ not if."

"Would that I could have your optimism, Verne," Elsa replied. "I'm starting to think –"

Elsa's thought was interrupted by a loud boom. A door being breached. Shouting suddenly erupted in the room their entourage had made camp. Elsa and Verne met eyes, and then dashed towards the source of the noise.


	30. Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

 _In two weeks' time, Novendon expects that we will reach the Worldgate. I hope that he is right, but I fear the worst. By now, we are being pursued, but it is not just the forces of darkness that pose a threat to us. The creature that felled two of our guard yesterday is likely to return. We sleep in shifts now._

 _Ilyurin's journal, recovered by Elsa_

 _Last entry dated August 25_ _th_ _, 1843_

* * *

Nahat'Tiemn,

The Sea of Stars

September 8th, 1843

Elsa burst back into the large chamber where her caravan had been sleeping and was immediately inundated with chaos. The dozen soldiers had sprung from their beds and hastily drawn weapons, engaging the creature in a disorganized frenzy. The creature was everywhere, it seemed, giant and writhing, with the body of a snake and the head of a dragon. It swiveled its gaze towards Elsa as she entered the room and roared, a multiple-voiced scream that sent dust raining down from the ceiling. Then it struck with lightning speed, catching one of her soldiers in its jaws and tossing him up into the air, screaming.

Heart pounding, Elsa threw her hand to the side and summoned Rimeheart. The sword of the Protector's light ignited like a bright blue beacon in the darkened chamber, drawing the attention of the creature just before it snapped up the wounded soldier. He collapsed back to the ground, groaning. All around the chamber, Elsa's men stabbed at the creature with spears and blades, but their weapons seemed ineffective against its scales. The giant wurm settled down to the floor and rushed at Elsa, tail lashing about behind it.

Elsa rolled to the side and it barreled past, rolling up the wall and coiling back to strike at her again. She lashed Rimeheart through the air before herself and threw three bolts of ice at the creature with her left hand, once again dancing back to try to stay away from its jaws. The icicles shattered against the creature's scales and it struck the floor where she'd been moments before, gnashing about with foot-long teeth. She dove forwards and plunged Rimeheart into the creature's skull – except her sword glanced off of its glimmering scales instead.

 _Uh-oh._

The wurm lashed sideways, ramming the side of its head into Elsa and sending her tumbling through the air. She landed roughly, knocking her head and seeing stars for a moment. Her men shouted, and the creature roared again. Elsa rolled to the side and pulled herself to her feet, back against a wall. The room was rectangular and large, sixty feet to one side and forty to the other. The giant, snakelike wurm seemed to fill all of it.

It lunged forwards again and caught one of the men in its jaws. He screamed briefly before the creature thrashed its head about for a moment, breaking the soldier's neck and killing him. Elsa cried out and charged back into the fray, feet skating on a slick track of ice formed to speed her up. Elsa reached the wurm again and Rimeheart flashed in the air, slashing the creature across its dragon-like snout.

It dropped the soldier's corpse and bellowed at her, lunging forwards. Elsa stood her ground and buffeted the creature with a storm of hail. It shuddered under the force of the impact, tiny lacerations opening along the exposed flesh of the interior of its mouth. She dove forwards and passed Rimeheart to her left hand, twisting dramatically to thrust her blade into its mouth. The wurm twisted at the last moment, and her sword didn't pierce the roof of its mouth; instead, it closed its jaws on the blade and yanked its head sideways.

Rimeheart was wrenched from Elsa's grip, dislocating her arm in the process. She cried out in pain, and the sword instantly dematerialized, vanishing into a puff of frigid air. Elsa immediately dashed backwards, letting the track of ice underneath her pull her far out of the wurm's reach. The creature's body began to move again, quickly sweeping throughout the chamber and coiling onto itself in the center of the room. The creature raised its head high above them all and roared again, mouth dribbling blood.

The rest of Elsa's men had gathered near the edges of the room, and just finished getting their rifles loaded. They opened fire on the wurm, aiming for the head. Many of the shot rained harmlessly against the creature's seemingly impenetrable scales, but one bullet sailed true and punctured the creature's eye. An arc of blood spun through the air, and the creature unwound in a heartbeat, tail lashing about and crushing men to the walls while its head came at Elsa again.

She called Rimeheart again and it fell into her uninjured hand. She roared back at the creature and sprinted towards it, skating several feet into the air and jumping, just before she reached it. Elsa sailed mere inches above the wurm's snapping jaws and twisted in a complete arc, landing in a straddle atop the wurm at the base of its head. She rammed Rimeheart into the creature's functioning eye, plunging the sword in to the hilt. It thrashed about violently, bucking her into the air, and let out a final, horrid scream.

Elsa hit the ground on her dislocated shoulder, ten feet from the creature. She gasped in pain, seeing stars for a moment, before she opened her eyes again and rolled out of the path of the wurm's death convulsions. Its massive body crushed into the stone floor where she'd been a heartbeat before, head lolling about for a few seconds before becoming rigid.

Slowly, Elsa rose to her feet, rubbing at her left shoulder and hissing softly. She looked about and felt a sudden knot in her stomach. Only eight of her twelve soldiers remained. Aside from the one who had been caught in the wurm's jaws, three had been crushed by its tail. Her remaining men were arranging the bodies together in a row.

 _This never gets easier, does it?_

"Are any of you wounded?" Elsa said, joining them.

"Not too badly, mistress," DaLeuc replied solemnly. Their ranking officer having been killed, Elsa supposed that he was in charge now. "We were prepared to suffer heavy losses, mistress. We will be ready to move on as soon as you desire."

Elsa looked down at the bodies, for a moment. "We should probably burn them. There won't be anywhere to give these men a proper burial."

The men nodded a solemn agreement, and the preparations were made. Elsa returned to the library to give them some peace while they performed the last rites for their men. She would have felt like an intruder in there with them. Elsa reread the final entry in the journal, musing silently on the words.

 _The creature that felled two of our guard yesterday is likely to return. We sleep in shifts now._

The refugees had been fleeing into the tower. Early on, they lost two of their guard to the horrid creature. So they began to sleep in shifts. When they came to this library, presumably near to the lair of the wurm, they too were attacked suddenly. The owner of the journal was forced to discard it in their haste to flee. Afterwards, they didn't dare lose valuable time returning to try to recover the little book. Elsa smelled something unpleasant burning in the next room over.

It worried Elsa, to think that the refugees they pursued had been caught just as off-guard by the creature as they. What other dangers lay in wait for them as they pressed on?

"Mistress." Verne's voice sounded from behind. "The men are ready to move on, if you are."

"Very well," she replied. As she turned her head, her shoulder protested. That was going to be a nuisance. "We'll travel an hour or two only, and then make camp again. The men still deserve a full night's sleep."

Verne nodded, and left to dispense the news to the soldiers.

xxx

The wurm, it turned out, was the first and only of the horrors that Elsa and her entourage had to overcome, for being the pursuers in the chase had some distinct advantages. Six days later, they came upon the corpses of two cave trolls, not yet in a state of decay. They took this as a welcome sign that they were closing the gap with their quarries.

Elsa spent a lot of time trying to work on her plan. Novendon, mentioned often in the journal, had previously been a member of the ruling consulate of the City of Brass, she learned from her men. Despite the fact that most of them were native to the City, they were able to tell her precious little about the man. Apparently, the consulate had been very private – even secretive – in their rule. None knew what quirk Novendon possessed.

From the inside cover of the journal Elsa was able to learn that its owner was named Ilyurin. She'd also been able to piece together that Ilyurin was a woman, and not a particularly noble one at that. From the things that Ilyurin spoke of early on in the journal – the earliest entry was dated to December of last year – she seemed to be a potions merchant, something that was actually rather mundane in a city as fantastic as this.

Elsa wished that Ilyurin had spent more time explaining how she'd gotten caught up in the flight into Nahat'Tiemn, but of course, why would she? Ilyurin didn't need to explain it to herself. The entries provided little in the way of clues, but they did give Elsa a good sense of the general sense of despair that the refugees felt as they began their flight.

In any case, she now knew _why_ they had chosen to flee into the tower, and it wasn't simply an exercise in futility, trying to delay an inevitable capture. According to Novendon, there was a fabled device called a Worldgate somewhere deep within the tower that possessed the ability to transport its user anywhere. Ilyurin was skeptical about this but admitted that the refugees had few other options. To Ilyurin, it seemed to perfect a solution to their problems, and she worried that Novendon might be leading them on a desperate chase after something that didn't exist.

Elsa wasn't sure whether she believed in the Worldgate; Everdark didn't seem to know about it, and no one who had lived in the City of Brass had mentioned it as a possibility. If the Worldgate was real, knowledge of it had largely been lost to time, it seemed. In any case, Elsa needed it to be. If the portal could truly take her anywhere, then it might be her only way back to Earth before the invasion began. Her time was slipping away.

So her plan, such as it was, consisted of reaching the Worldgate and using it to return to Arendelle. If the Worldgate was merely a desperate fabrication, she would be stranded in the Sea of Stars. If she was unable to operate the Worldgate, she would be stranded. It was possible that they wouldn't even be able to recognize the Worldgate for what it was. After all, it had supposedly evaded the notice of all but the ruling consulate of the City of Brass for many hundreds of years. Her best bet was to catch up to Novendon, Ilyurin, and the others, and convince them that she was an ally.

At the end of their twenty-second day in Nahat'Tiemn, Elsa decided that it was time to explain her plan to Verne and her soldiers. They'd been following her mostly blind for too long now, and the deception made her uncomfortable. Around a simple cookfire they'd constructed in the hearth of a dining hall, she gathered their attention.

"I have something important to tell you all," she began. Her caravan glanced up, breaking off from a conversation about where the freshest tomatoes in the City could be bought. "It's something that I probably should have leveled with you all earlier, but I've just been working these things out for myself."

"Mistress?" Verne said, voice colored with surprise.

"As you all know, in the library we passed through three weeks ago, I found a journal that had been left behind by one of the refugees that we're following." Elsa glanced around, meeting several sets of eyes in turn. "The author of the journal mentions a portal that can be used to travel anywhere, from inside the tower. She calls it the Worldgate.

"I tell this to you all because our plan – well, my plan – is _not_ to kill the refugees that we're pursuing. I don't even intend to capture them." She registered the surprised looks, and took a deep breath. "I am not a faithful servant of Everdark."

Silence.

"In fact, until recently, I had been fighting, tooth and claw, to make sure that Everdark did not return. I… I largely lost that battle. A close friend of mine was killed, and I was dominated by Everdark. For some time, I could not control myself, and I served darkness. Recently, something broke Everdark's control over me. I don't know what it was, but I don't intend on letting this stroke of luck go to waste.

"Everdark's forces are invading Earth very soon, and I intend to be on the front lines, ready to meet them. So my plan is to use the Worldgate to return to Earth." She was now staring towards the fire. "I have deceived you all, and for that I apologize. I understand if you do not share my goals, but if we find the refugees, know that I am bound by honor to defend them."

She heard DaLeuc shifting, and she turned. "Also, if you try to apprehend me now, know that I have no intention of being defeated."

To her surprise, however, the soldier didn't seem to be reaching for a weapon. Indeed, he was just shifting to a more comfortable sitting position. None of the soldiers, nor Verne, spoke for several more seconds. When DaLeuc did, his voice was quite curious.

"You're… you're part of some sort of resistance?"

"Well, not really," Elsa said. "Whatever resistance that I could claim we had has been crushed. But wherever there is hope, people will take up weapons and defend their loved ones. What they really need, back on Earth, is a little bit of hope."

Another of the soldiers spoke up, a man named Bregg. "Well, mistress, you saved my life during the fight with that serpent." He'd been the first man caught in its jaws, the one that she'd narrowly saved from being eaten. "Seeing as The Master has never done that for me, you're where my loyalty lies."

Verne smiled softly. "I had suspected, mistress, for quite some time now. And I have long made my decision. I am sworn to protect you with my life, and that oath has not been broken. I am happy to give my life to a noble cause."

Elsa couldn't help but feel overwhelmed as, one by one, the men of her company swore their service to her. To the light. As the last man spoke his oath, she wiped a single tear from her cheek and smiled.

"Then we have cause to rejoice. For if all men are as brave as you are in the face of defeat, then defeating Everdark will be the easy part. The hard part will be finding a way to honor the names of so many heroes once we've won."

xxx

Kariena Tae stood atop the newly minted balustrades surrounding Arendelle's port, staring out towards the ocean. It was hard to separate grey sky from grey sea; the rains formed a cloudy fog in the distance that made it all blend together like an impressionist painting. It was melancholy.

"We're almost out of time," she said, glancing to her left, where a burly Jotun man leaned against the stone crenulations. Mere days remained until one month's time had expired since Odette had received the ultimatum from Everdark.

" _Agnet morder il ja nkoten,"_ he replied, voice a low growl. "It is a saying we have. I suppose it means 'time moves fastest with death on the mind.'"

Kariena raised an eyebrow. "How often are you guys saying stuff like that?"

"What is this stuff, you mean?" The giant's name was Sebjorn. He was one of a dozen or so wizards who had pledged their services to Arendelle for the duration of the coming invasion. They had made quite clear, however, that the age-old animosities between the two kingdoms were not forgotten.

"Pessimistic stuff, I suppose," Kariena replied. "It seems odd that you guys say stuff like that often enough to turn an idiomatic phrase for it."

"I…" Sebjorn's brow furrowed. "We have long minds, human. We think often about the world, and what will come after we are gone."

Kariena didn't have a chance to respond. At once, all the soldiers along the wall snapped to attention as Princess Anna, absent any entourage despite her pregnancy, crested the stairs that led up to the wall and joined them. Anna bowed her head respectfully to Sebjorn, who in turn made a fist and touched it to his opposite elbow – a sign of respect, but not deference, among the Jotun.

"I was told that I might find you up here, Kariena," Anna said. "We're just about to begin the last war room."

"I'll be down in just a moment, your highness," Kariena replied. She'd been up here avoiding it for as long as possible. She didn't like thinking about all the different ways that they were probably going to die.

"We have a representative from your people, Sebjorn, but we would welcome your presence as well, if you wish it," Anna said.

"No thank you, princess. I will be content to hear it from my own."

Anna nodded, and headed back down. After a few more minutes of staring into the sea, Kariena followed her.

xxx

"We have enough room in the northern quarter of the city to house all of its occupants," Anna was saying. "So the moment that we see an invading force on the horizon, we immediately evacuate all of the sections of the city within a mile of any of the harbors."

She glanced up towards General Tarson. "Do you know of any ships with a bombardment range longer than that?"

"Not with current technology," he replied. "Though I fear we may have to assume that we're up against something more formidable than any force humanity could muster."

"In that case, we'll evacuate everyone within two miles. That will cut it close in terms of space, but we can begin evacuating the citizenry to the magnet towns if we must."

Odette glanced down at the giant map of Arendelle that covered the table inside the war room. It was heavily marked, by now, with little notations marking neighborhoods that would be cleared, as well as the best places to stations forces, which streets would be easiest to defend, and so on.

"Your highness," Charles Vander said, "We received word this morning that the food shortages in Fayborough are more extensive than we had previously assumed. The same is true for Brent, and for Anders, as well. They… they might not be able to _accept_ any refugees."

A worried murmur spread through the room.

"If food is their only weakness, then we will be fine," Anna said. "We have enough to feed our populace through the winter, and we can go through it more quickly if it means supporting the outer villages."

"But your highness, what will we do when springtime arrives?" Came a worried response.

"When springtime comes, then we'll worry about where our food is going to come from. In the meantime, I'm going to focus on keeping everyone alive," Anna said, a trace of edge to her voice.

Odette blinked. In that moment, Anna sounded so very much like her sister. _Dear God, I miss her._

"When the siege begins," Anna continued, "The rain will finally come to our advantage. They won't be able to whip up blazes in the city if we're getting three inches of rain every day. So we don't need to worry about demolishing flammable structures close to the waterline. In a perfect world, we still would, but we don't have the liberty of caring about everything right now."

Being able to rule out firebombing was a great relief, according to the few in the room who had experience with siege warfare. Apparently, conventional artillery was nowhere near as effective, and even then, invading ships would likely have trouble firing any cannons that weren't positioned belowdecks in the current weather.

"Our army is four thousand and eight hundred strong, according to the last count," Anna said. They'd managed to recruit a thousand or so volunteers before the draft began. Vander had insisted upon authoring the formal decree instating the draft. He'd known it would be unpopular, and he'd been ready to bear the brunt of the animus. "That's enough to hold the walls for some time. But not forever.

"Of course, our first defense will be the navy, but our ships are mostly for trade, not war. We are arming as many ships as we can, but do not expect them to defend us for long. Once we lose one thousand men, we're going to abandon the walls and fall back into the city. With a smaller force, it will be easier to defend the streets and alleys than it will the entire portside of the city."

"But, your highness!" A scared voice sounded from one of the men who hadn't been to the other war rooms.

 _If_ this _is what scares you, you're in for a real treat,_ Odette mused to herself.

"If we let the invaders into the city, then they can begin to pillage in earnest!" The man continued.

"Yes," Anna replied before continuing. "As this happens, we will begin a full-scale evacuation of the city to the outer villages. Anders is also on the coastline and has a fleet of twenty or so ships. The final destination will be Anders. From there, our people will flee anywhere safe. We don't have a planned destination, because we don't know where that will be.

"All the while, we have a force of fourteen wizards. Three of them are in this room with us. Odette, Kariena, and Gorm."

Many eyes swiveled towards the ice giant leaning against the far wall of the room. A sour expression was etched into his face.

"They will do what they can to protect us from the wizards that The Cult of Entropy is likely to send."

Anna looked about the room. Odette read immense pain in those azure eyes.

"Your highness," General Tarson said, clearing his throat.

"Yes?"

"I don't mean to panic anyone, but this is… rather important. You spoke of how the constant rains will come to our aid, defending the city from fires."

"Yes," Anna replied.

"But we have come to believe that these rains have been created by the enemy, correct?"  
"Yes."

"Then we should not assume that the weather will remain so benign," he said. "If I were a betting man, I'd expect a hell of a storm is coming."

The room was quiet for a moment. No one, it seemed, had considered that.

"You mean a hurricane?" Someone said.

"We don't get hurricanes this far north," Tarson said, voice grim. "Arendelle isn't built to withstand that sort of weather. It would tear us apart."

"If we see evidence of a devastating storm coming," Anna said, "then we will evacuate the entire city to the highlands. But yes. Let's hope that it doesn't come to that."

Anna let the room lapse into silence again, waiting to see if anyone had something else to add. When it became clear that they did not, she spoke her dismissal to them.

"Be prepared to lose the city. I know that this will be hard to accept for some of you, but believe me when I say that there will be other battles to fight. And we're going to need to be ready to win those fights."


	31. Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

 _The promised hour has arrived. We will bring them to their knees._

* * *

Everdark's Temple

the Edge of Hell

October 5th, 1843

Silas Wright knelt upon the floor of a darkened chamber. His forehead pressed into the cold stone, and his breath came unevenly. He was unprepared for the cold when it arrived. Everdark's presence entered the chamber, a weight that constricted Wright's chest and instilled him with an unshakeable fear. One never did get used to the presence of pure evil.

"Master. You grace me with your presence."

"I care not for your supplications, Wright. Are the preparations complete?"  
Wright involuntarily made to gulp, but found that he couldn't bring himself to swallow. "Yes, master," he choked out eventually. "Just as you asked. The wizards have been hard at work preparing the rituals that will open the wargate. Those rituals are complete. We wait only on your command."

"Good." Everdark did not sound pleased, despite the success. Something about its voice sounded… distracted? "We will mobilize the forces within the hour."

Wright knew that he should hold his tongue. One did not question a force such as Everdark, but he found himself speaking anyway. "Master. Master, I do not doubt that our forces will be sufficient to retake much of the world, but…"

"But what?" Everdark replied.

"It has come to my attention that we are short-handed on wizards," Wright said. Indeed, the initial invasion force was absent sixty-four wizards from the amount that Everdark had promised some time ago. "I cannot help but wonder whether they are being put to use somewhere more deserving."

Wright immediately regretted asking something so brazen. One did not question the master. But to his surprise, when Everdark replied, its voice seemed impassive.

"I have lost control of the Protector," it said.

Wright blinked, still staring into a little crack between two tiles set into the floor. He didn't know what purpose this room had served before it was his Dark Chamber. He hadn't bothered to ask the servants who had cleared it out for him when they swept the remnants of the temple's previous occupant away.

"What do you mean? Surely, your skills at domination cannot be bested?"

"I was not certain at first," Everdark said, voice a low rumble, more felt than heard. "It… puzzled me. My skills at manipulation have never been bested before. It had to be something else."

Everdark's essence seemed to grow contemplative.

"Not even a full Protector would be able to do something such as this, and the girl Elsa has not yet even sworn the final oath. No, something else was the cause of this… embarrassment."

"Then what else, master?"

There was silence for some time.

"There has been an awakening," Everdark's voice rumbled. "I have felt the presence of… another."

"No, master," Wright replied. "The precautions we've taken… it can't be true!"

"I did not wish to believe at first either," Everdark said, "though I have grown more certain with time. The girl that found the preacher's corpse in Arendelle. The French girl."

Wright knew the one Everdark spoke of. The healer who'd been with the Protector when they'd tried to disrupt the wargate that led Everdark's forces into the underworld, back in New York City in July.

"At first I thought that the girl was an ordinary healer, barely worth my notice," Everdark continued. "But my presumption may have been costly. The girl is a Mender."

Wright moaned softly. Menders, like Protectors, were a fabled classification of wizard. Only one could exist at a time, and often centuries would pass between them. Menders possessed the ability to repair broken bonds – from the bonds of the body, to the bonds which drew people together and more. If Everdark was right, the girl had made a powerful connection with the Protector.

A bond, that could be repaired with magic if they were torn apart.

The Mender had freed Elsa from Everdark's grasp. That kind of power… Wright shivered.

"The first time…" Wright began slowly.

"The first time, a Mender had not risen to oppose my conquest," Everdark finished. "Yes, the first time, there was only a Protector to get in my way. But we need not fear, not yet. The Mender is inexperienced, even more so than Elsa. She has spent much of her life denying the existence of her powers, and is just now beginning to scratch the surface of her abilities. She will be unready to mount a serious resistance to us. Our invasion _will_ be successful."

Wright felt a pale reassurance. Surely, Everdark was right. After all, the god could see so far, and knew so much. Still, the thought of fighting through two wizards of such power…

"Where are the wizards, master?" Wright asked again.

"Preparing to enter Nahat'Tiemn," Everdark replied. "Elsa will reach the Worldgate within days. She will have caught up to our allies by then, but it will not matter. Novendon will activate the portal, and our force of wizards will be ready to enter the tower and challenge her."

Wright started. He hadn't known that the refugees, fleeing into Nahat'Tiemn, had secretly been servants of Everdark. He'd assumed, like many others, that Everdark had merely been trying to occupy Elsa with something menial that would keep her away from Arendelle when the invasion began. _Lies within lies._

"This news is reassuring, master."

"It is good that you are not so foolish as to lose faith in our cause, my servant," Everdark said simply. "Now go. Complete the ritual. It is time for the invasion to begin."

There was a rush of warmth as Everdark left the chamber. Wright felt a sudden, palpable excitement. Glory awaited.

xxx

An obsidian altar had been constructed upon the flattened top of the pyramid. Upon the stone, terrace-like steps of the structure stood the hundreds of wizards that comprised Everdark's elite forces. They wore a special uniform – sable with a golden trim – and some wore armor, though others opted not to.

On the barren plain below the pyramid, the army of darkness stretched to the horizon. The initial invasion force was one million strong. And it was just the beginning. With all of the underworld at its command, Everdark could muster a functionally limitless supply of troops that did not need to be fed, that did not need to rest, and did not feel pain. There were only two factors limiting Everdark's army: mustering enough equipment to arm so many men, and getting them through the wargates onto earth.

Neither were particularly easy tasks, and Everdark had assigned many of its brightest minds to search for solutions.

Wargates, in particular, could only be created via complex, and deadly, rituals. An application of complex tensing magics, they needed a wizard's soul to bind them and took the better part of a month to create. So even working around the clock to create them, Everdark's forces were just now ready to begin the invasion. In addition, normally the gates could only transport users to another gate that was already open. Without maintenance, an open portal would decay after perhaps a week, so simply returning to New York City wasn't an option anymore. Creating portals that didn't link to any specific wargate on the other side was certainly possible, though it required even more complex magics than were already involved.

So the first invasion's purpose was to secure several important cities and use them as a base for future operations on earth. The invading forces would create and maintain portals in these places, allowing for reinforcements to arrive quickly, as well as the rapid redeployment of Everdark's forces around the world to respond wherever they were needed.

It was a good plan.

Wright stood atop that platform at the top of Everdark's palace at the edge of Hell, beside three wizards wearing robes that marked them as high priests in the Cult. Like the rest of their order, they wore golden masks that were completely devoid of features, covering their entire faces, almost as if they were unfinished sculptures. Wright wondered which of them would be the sacrifice.

He stepped towards the edge of the pyramid, clearing his throat and preparing to address the sea of troops, but one of the priest spoke first.

"The promised hour has arrived." The creature's voice carried magnificently in the still air. "The time has come to re-enter the world. The time has come to reclaim what is ours. We will bring them to their knees."

A deafening chorus of cheers pounded Wright's ears. The two remaining priests suddenly gripped his arms, and he realized that neither priest was prepared to be the sacrifice.

"No! NO!" He screamed, trying to struggle, but his own voice sounded pathetic. Weak. He was unable to break from their grasp.

The first priest, the one who had been speaking to the army, drew a long khopesh from an ornate scabbard at its side. The sword was elegantly curved, and polished to a brilliant gleam. The creature raised its sword to the red sun and the army roared.

"The only price we must pay for the world is a drop of humanity. It is a price well-worth paying."

"NO!" Wright screamed again as the creature turned. He tried to use his power on the creature, tried to use his telepathy to dominate it. But he could not feel the priest's mind. He could not feel anything but his own fear.

The creature's blade flashed, and Wright's head was torn from his shoulders. The two remaining creatures shoved the headless corpse over the altar, where blood flowed like honeyed wine. The dark magic accepted Wright's sacrifice with open arms.

The wargate opened, and the army surged forwards, screaming for blood. The invasion began.

xxx

Anna awoke to shouting. She spun and sat up, grimacing as her unborn child kicked. Kristoff was already up, hurriedly throwing clothes on as a messenger stood in their doorway. For a moment, Anna was annoyed. It had better be something _very_ important, to barge into her room in the middle of the night, shouting about god knows what.

Then she saw the fear in his eyes, and instantly she knew what was happening. The enemy was here.

She stumbled out of bed and started dressing as fast as she could. Kristoff turned to look back at her and started to speak frantically. "Anna, I want you to go with the women and children, when we evacuate them."

Anna had known this was coming. "Not right now, Kristoff, let's not talk about this right now," she said. She wasn't going. Not while he was in danger.

He caught her shoulders and looked into her eyes. " _Please,_ Anna. Please." She realized that his eyes were shining with tears. "I'm scared. I don't want to lose you. I _can't_ lose you."

Anna fell silent, shaken. After a few tense seconds, she replied, "I can't lose you, either."

Before she could say anything else, Odette appeared in the doorway. She was out of breath, and slicked wet with rain. "I just got here, from the walls. Ships – there's got to be a hundred of them."

 _One hundred?_ Not even when she had been tortured by Namar Sadden, had Anna felt this kind of fear. This kind of brutal, intense panic. _We're all going to die._

"We've mobilized the garrison," Odette was continuing, her words coming in ragged gasps. "And the fleet is forming a blockade across the harbor. They're going to do what they can to slow them down. We're starting to prepare to evacuate the civilians, too."

Odette glanced at them both. "If you want my advice, you should both get out of here while you still can."

Kristoff was quiet.

"You're not a soldier, Kristoff," Odette said softly. "But you _are_ a father. Don't throw that away doing something stupid and heroic."

Kristoff glanced up to meet Anna's eyes again. "Alright. We're both getting out of here."

Anna blinked away tears of her own and nodded.

xxx

Kariena held the spyglass up to her face, staring out into a sea of blackness. It was barely two in the morning. A sailor had noticed the enemy approaching almost thirty minutes ago, and by now they had a pretty accurate estimate of the size of their forces. Lightning flashed, dancing down from the clouds and illuminating a forest of masts on the horizon before it touched the water. They were severely outnumbered.

Kariena handed the spyglass to Sebjorn, who took it and raised it to his own eyes. A moment later, a peal of thunder rumbled in the distance.

"I do not like this weather," the ice giant mused grimly. "The general of your forces was right. A mighty storm is coming."

"I don't like these odds," Kariena replied.

"Hmm," Sebjorn frowned deeply. "What is it, that you do again, little witch?"

"I can teleport short distances," Kariena replied.

"I see. So you do not make things catch fire."

"Not with magic, and not in this rain," Kariena said. "But I don't think that we'd be able to make their ships light, anyhow. The wood's probably soaked through."

"That is… unfortunately true, little witch," Sebjorn said.

"What do you do, again?" Kariena asked.

"My magic is the skill to create beautiful poetry," Sebjorn replied.

Kariena glanced sideways at the seven-foot tall giant. "That doesn't seem very useful."

Sebjorn turned and smiled very slightly. "Is joke. I am very tough. You shoot me, it does not kill."

"Ah." Kariena looked forwards again. Then she glanced back. "Have you been doing this the whole time? Lying to me as a joke and seeing if I believed you?"

Sebjorn continued his small smile. "Maybe. Some things, yes. We do not really grow out of rocks as _kindre_ ," he said, using the Jotun word for children.

Kariena scowled, then laughed, despite herself. "You bastard."

The pair heard footsteps behind them, and they glanced back. The rest of the wall was already teeming with soldiers, setting up canopies from under which to fire rifles. Someone was shouting to anyone who would listen, asking if bows would fire better in the rain than guns. Nobody seemed to know the answer. Odette crested the steps up to the wall and hurried over, nodding to each of them.

"How long?" She asked.

"Probably about ten minutes before they're within firing range of our blockade," Kariena said. One hundred feet out, a line of Arendane ships was formed across the harbor. It had been moved into place days before, and right now, dozens of little dinghies rushed crewmembers out to man them. They were brave men, and they were all going to die. "But we could be wrong. The waves are getting really high, so it's tough to judge distance with much accuracy."

Odette gazed out into the waves, a faraway look on her face.

"You're wondering if she'll be with them," Kariena guessed.

Odette simply nodded.

"Excuse me," a soldier's voice sounded. The triad turned to face the man. Rain streamed down his uniform, running in rivulets off his cap. The man couldn't have been more than twenty, yet he wore the epaulets of a captain. "Mistress sorceresses and master wizard," nodding his head respectfully. "We'd like to spread out our spellcasters as evenly as we can along the wall. We think that it will be good for morale, as well as…"

He frowned deeply. "Keeping us alive," he finished in a smaller voice.

They split up and spaced themselves out along the wall.

Odette settled on a section of the ramparts on the northern face of the city's walls, surrounded by a few dozen terrified soldiers. She felt like she should try to say something reassuring to them, but nothing came to mind.

"Two minutes," she heard one of the men say grimly.

The enemy ships were close enough now that they could be seen even between the intermittent flashes of lightning, a sea of no less than thirty formidable warships, all with two dozen guns oriented to point forwards. They weren't planning on turning to shoot a full broadside, then.

"Soldier?" Odette called, waving over a nearby man.

"Yes, madame sorceress?" He replied, jogging over.

"Why do the front of the ships look so strange?" She asked, indicating towards the rapidly approaching enemy.

As if on cue, lightning flashed, illuminating that the prow of each of the warships seemed to have been fashioned into something of a maw. They appeared to be plated with metal.

"It looks like they've outfitted their fleet with rams, madame sorceress," the man replied. "They aren't planning on stopping when they hit our blockade."

A peal of thunder rumbled, cutting off any reply. Then, all at once, a hundred explosive flashes illuminated the night as the bombardment began.

xxx

Elsa and her retinue stood before a magnificent archway. Yesterday, they had came to a doorway that led _outside,_ for the first time during their journey. It turned out, high enough on the tower, entire pathways were carved out of massive ledges hundreds of feet wide that ran around the entire surface of the tower. No rail separated the edge of the tower from the dizzying fall below, so few Elsa's retinue dared get particularly close to the edge.

The view was magnificent, however. Stretching endlessly in either direction, from their vantage point a hundred kilometers in the air, the party could see the entire magnificence of the Sea of Stars. The City of Brass opened up below the tower, and beyond it lay an ocean of clouds, gilt golden by the sun and host to little silvery streaks of light that danced about between them. Those streaks of light were called _spren,_ according to DaLeuc, though he knew very little about them – he wasn't even sure if they were living creatures, or simply a natural phenomenon.

They'd made their way around the outside of the tower for three days, and finally, they came to the archway which they now stood before. Twenty feet tall and adorned with ornately shaped stone artwork depicting a map of the Sea of Stars, Elsa could tell that they had reached the entrance to the Worldgate. The hearthstone appeared to be a globe of earth.

"Damn. I can't believe that we finally made it," DaLeuc said, impressed.

"And not a minute too soon," one of Elsa's other soldiers, a man named Cuperio, said. "I can't wait to get off my damn feet."

They had a fine view into the room beyond through the archway. There was a giant circular opening on the ground, maybe fifty feet in diameter, surrounded by a metal rail that curved inwards, looking almost like the first part of a dome that would cover the giant hole. As Elsa's retinue passed through the doorway, they immediately noticed that the rest of the room was empty.

"Hmm," Cuperio continued. "Didn't we expect to be the _second_ group to make it to the gate?"

"Yes," Verne replied. "Perhaps we are too late. Perhaps the renegades that we were pursuing already used the gate days before."

Elsa looked about. She didn't see evidence that people had camped here, or even spent any time at all, in this chamber recently. Maybe activating the portal wasn't a mystery at all, then? Something about this felt off, to her.

"In the journal, Ilyurin mentioned that she wasn't even convinced that the Worldgate was real," Elsa said, mentioning the author of the diary that she'd recovered from the library about a month ago. "I'd be very surprised if they arrived here, and figured out how to get this thing working fast enough that they wouldn't have had to make a camp."

She walked up to the edge of the railing, and gazed down into the pit. There was nothing for perhaps one hundred feet, and then there was a brilliant yellow light. She wasn't sure if that mean that the gate was working, but it definitely wasn't a natural light.

"Maybe they tried jumping in?" One man guessed, chuckling.

Elsa's eyes narrowed as she continued to gaze into the portal's depths. She waved one of her men over, and fished around in his pack for a moment, coming out with a heel of bread. Elsa turned and dropped it into the pit. It tumbled down, bouncing off of the side at one point, until it hit the light. The bread was incinerated with a little hiss.

Elsa back at her men, frowning. "This is starting to smell like a trap."

"An excellent observation, Protector," a loud, resounding voice called from the other end of the chamber. The party looked up to see dozens of black-cloaked men and women walking through the archway at the far end of the chamber. "But I'm afraid that you caught on just a bit too late."

Elsa immediately cleared her mind, her defenses against telepathy springing up. Hopefully, this time she'd be able to defend herself.

"I am the wizard Novendon, that you've read so much about," the man said, smiling. Behind him, wizards continued to pour into the chamber until they were well over fifty in number. More wizards than Elsa had ever seen, all intent on killing her or dying trying. "I'm afraid, however, that Ilyurin is a fabrication."

"Stand behind me, mistress," Verne said softly, his face blank.

Elsa glanced sideways at him, her hands already going cold with magic. "No."

"Mistress, I am your expendable. It is my duty," Verne said urgently.

"No," Elsa replied again, turning her gaze back to the wizards assembled on the other side of the chamber. "We do this together."

Elsa thrust her hand out to the side, and a familiar weight coalesced from the aether. Rimeheart's brilliant-blue gleam burst to life, casting the right side of her face in its light.

 _Now would be a great time for me to figure out the final Words,_ Elsa mused to herself. Then the entire room burst into action.


	32. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Author's Note:

Longest upload ever, woohoo! Kind of a silly record, but still. Hope y'all enjoy! :)

xxx

Chapter Twenty-Seven

 _The powers of the Protector are passed differently than the other varieties of archmagi. A new Protector must learn a series of four couplets – precepts to live by, as well as the foundations of the archmagi's strength. The Words of the Protector._

 _The Bard Rhennalus_

 _from 'The Histories'_

* * *

Arendelle,

October 5th, 1843

Anna glanced up, startled by how clearly they could hear the cannons, even on the other side of the city. The bombardment had just begun.

Kristoff placed a reassuring hand on his wife's knee and glanced out of the carriage window. The streets hadn't flooded with panicked citizens looking to escape. At least, not yet. Right now, windows were boarded, and the streets were empty; the people of Arendelle were hunkered down, still following the evacuation plan – for the moment.

Arendelle's population was over two hundred thousand. Evacuating a city so large was no small feat, and it couldn't be done quickly. So by decree of the crown, the evacuation of Arendelle would be undertaken in stages. Immediately as the bombardment began, high-priority citizens would be spirited away to Anders, where they would flee on merchant ships to a welcoming country, probably Corona. Pregnant mothers and young children, mostly, had already been moved towards the city's gates over the last several days in preparation for the attacks. Anna hadn't expected to be among the first flight of refugees from the city, but she would fit right in with the rest of the women.

In three more stages, the rest of the populace would be sent into the countryside, towards magnet villages that were rapidly preparing to receive them. Eventually, the destination of all the refugees would be Anders, the only magnet village along the coastline and the one where all of Arendelle's non-navy ships had been relocated. But there were not enough boats in the kingdom to carry all of its people to safety – at least, not all at once. The little fleet would have to make several trips back and forth to save them all, and in the meantime Anders didn't have the capability to house so many refugees. All in all, the evacuation plan was complex, and for the last group of citizens to leave the city, possibly too slow to get them to safety in time.

Anna had been the one to sign off on this plan. Some time ago, Elsa had told her sister that ruling involved making many hard choices, and a few impossible ones. Anna hadn't really understood that until now.

"Miss?" Montaigne said, garnering Anna's attention from his seat across from her and Kristoff in the royal coach. He too would be among those who left the city today.

"Yes?" Anna replied, trying to shake herself out of such pessimistic thoughts.

"We have arrived."

Anna glanced to the side, out the carriage's window, and saw that indeed, they had reached the city's gates. It felt strange that, amidst crisis, the courtyard around them would be so empty. In the short term, it seemed, panic had not yet taken hold. Arendelle was sticking to the plan.

Kristoff got out of the carriage and helped his wife down, glancing towards the far side of the city as he did. An orange glow burned on the horizon, and the distant rumble of cannon fire pounded on, just audible underneath the wind and the rain.

"This way!" Montaigne called over the din, pointing towards a large, nearby building. They made their way across the courtyard, using their arms to shield their eyes, and ducked into the warehouse.

Inside was a titanic press of women and children, probably over one thousand in number. Despite the size of the crowd, however, they were unnaturally quiet. Now that they were inside, the sound of the bombardment finally faded away, and Anna could make out an individual plaintive cry of a young boy on the other side of the warehouse. A sea of terrified faces were being corralled into groups by fifty or so tense-looking soldiers. Their captain rushed over to greet the newcomers as soon as he noticed their importance.

"Your majesty!" The man bowed, then inclined his head to Kristoff and Montaigne, their titles demanding less respect than the princess's. "We didn't expect you to be among the first flight."

Anna felt a stab of guilt. Before she could justify herself, however, the man continued.

"We're very relieved to see that you've changed your mind, your majesty." The man did, in fact, sound relieved. "The city is going to be very dangerous. It will not be fit for a woman soon to become a mother, not matter her station."

Kristoff smiled gratefully at the man. "What is your name, soldier?"

"Captain Carmen," he replied. "And we should get you all separated into one of the caravans. We plan to set out within the hour."

"You seem like you're running a tight ship here, Captain," Kristoff said appreciatively. "Caravans?"

"Yes," Carmen replied, leading them towards the smallest of the groups and saying a few quick words to the soldiers shepherding them before turning back to Kristoff. "Our forces are spread a little thin – most of them are up on the city walls right now – so if we fled as one large group, we wouldn't have the manpower to effectively guard ourselves. If we split up into smaller caravans, we'll be able to get more out of our men."

Kristoff nodded. "Do we expect to run into any trouble along the way? I mean, I'd expect most of the enemy to be concentrated on taking Arendelle."

Captain Carmen rubbed at his jaw. "Well, you never really know. Chances are, we won't, but… it pays to be safe, I suppose. Please excuse me, your majesty."

Then he walked away to give orders to another group.

xxx

The enemy ships hit the blockade. Masts tore through sails, and the rams dug into the wooden flank of the Arendane fleet. Another wave of cannon fire from both sides sent explosions of wooden shrapnel and hungry blazes across the decks of the ships, and an army of merciless undead drew their swords and pistols and crossed the divide.

Odette could hear the shouting from where she stood, feeling hopelessly impotent two hundred feet away atop the city walls. A chill sheet of rain lashed her from behind, and she hissed softly. The winds had grown colder, but the night had grown hotter as the fires spread throughout the bay. A particularly horrid scream lingered in the air for several moments. A soldier beside Odette nervously sighted along his rifle, but he was too far away to shoot with accuracy. He'd be just as likely to hit one of his own.

Odette realized that she was fidgeting and forced herself to stop. She would be strong, tonight. She had to be.

 _I've come a long way in eight months,_ she mused to herself. Had it really only been a few short months ago that she'd been terrified to jump onto a ladder from a third-story window? My, how her problems were bigger than that, now.

Odette was broken from her recollection as he noticed one figure standing out among the burning wreckage of the ships. The silhouette was far taller than the ones around it, with a massively broad chest and a comparatively undersized head. It swung about with a large, blunt weapon, throwing scores of men to the deck and earning screams of terror. He commanded the battlefield in a way that Odette had only seen wizards do before, but he did not obviously use any powers. Perhaps uncanny strength or toughness.

When they had prepared for the assault on the city, it had been expected that the blockade of ships in the port would be able to hold the advance of the enemy for hours, possibly even a day. Many of the troops on the wall had expected that they would eventually be ferried out to the ships on dinghies as reinforcements, eventually. They'd expected the enemy ships to be content to sit back and exchange broadsides; they hadn't expected the rams. It turned out that the forces of darkness were willing to trade lives for expediency.

A massive groaning of timbers signaled that the ship nearest to Odette was beginning to tear through the blockade. The iron ram fitted to its prow gleamed in the firelight as it burst through the other side of the Arendane line, showering wood splinters into the bay and sending three men overboard. The bay was rapidly turning into a bloody cauldron of the dead.

"They're coming within range!" A soldier shouted. "Get ready to fire!"

The dread ship had nearly emerged from the blockade, the one it had torn through collapsing into the water in bursts of flames. Odette cast a glance to her left and right, and saw that much the same thing was happening everywhere. Their first line of defense had fallen.

Less than thirty minutes had passed.

"Fire!" The man shouted. A field of muzzle flashes lit up the night around Odette. Many bullets snapped ineffectually against the hull of the approaching ship, but some found their mark. They hit bodies with dull thuds and drew no screams. Bodies toppled silently overboard and hit the water with splashes covered by gunfire.

"These things aren't human," a soldier near Odette groaned softly.

"Go after the men on the guns!" Odette called out over the din. "They're getting ready to fire!"

The Arendanes concentrated their fire near the cannons, and a dozen bodies slumped to the ground or tumbled overboard in the same, silent way as before. But it was not enough. The forces of darkness were too many, and finally one man apiece got to the cannons and lit the fuses. With a roar of flame, the ship fired its forward-facing guns into the wall. Explosions rippled along the wall, and the blast threw Odette backwards, tumbling over the far side. She barely had time to cry out before she hit the ground, head banging into hard cobblestones and knocking her unconscious.

xxx

A flash of light startled Odette awake. She sat up, vision swimming. For several moments, all she could see were colors. There was so much red. It was hot, too. Fires. How were fires getting enough air, with all the rain? She was wet, but she wasn't getting any wetter. Had the storm stopped? What was that ringing sound in her head?

Vaguely aware that she had to heal herself, Odette instinctively started using magic. Her body grew very cold for a moment, and then flushed with heat. Suddenly, she felt tired, as if she'd run a great distance, but her head cleared and her vision came into focus.

It wasn't raining anymore. A crumbling rend had been opened in the city's wall, wider at the top and shaped like a letter _V._ It was wide enough to let the enemy in by twos and threes, and a swarm of them was fighting just inside, beating back an outnumbered and pathetic-looking line of Arendane soldiers. Odette stood, pedaling away from the building she'd been laying near. It was burning. As a matter of fact, many buildings were, judging from the orange glow that lit the night sky all throughout the coastal edge of the city.

Odette drew her saber – it was a thin, light blade that she'd been practicing with ever since she'd returned to Arendelle – and started to run towards the fighting, when the giant warrior from the enemy ship suddenly stepped into her path, out of an alleyway. His skin was dark, and his head was bald. From the flickering firelight, Odette could see that his entire upper body and head were covered in pattered tattoos, giving his face a ghastly-looking mask. He carried a large hammer, the type meant to be wielded two-handed by infantrymen looking to dismount knights in the middle ages, in each hand. He grinned, flashing a brilliantly white smile.

"How convenient," He shouted over the screaming and the dying to her. "I was just looking for you."

Odette's eyes widened, and she scrambled backwards, holding her rapier out towards him and suddenly wishing that she had something more substantial.

"I am called Barsad," the man said, still grinning as he approached her. Odette forced herself to keep to the street. She didn't want to get trapped down an alleyway. "I am a wizard-slayer."

He swung a hammer into the ground and exploded a cobblestone, sending shrapnel flying at Odette. She threw her arm in front of her eyes, and was battered with a dozen stinging cuts. In her moment of weakness Barsad leapt forwards, grinning and swinging the other hammer at her sideways. Odette yelped and ducked underneath it, trying to get her saber around for an attack, but stopping short and dodging again as the first hammer swung again.

She put some distance between them, heart hammering in her chest. _He's so fast!_

"In my lifetime I killed many wizards. However, I was never satisfied." He swung a hammer into the stone again, and again Odette ducked away, shielding her face from the bits of stone. "I will be eternally grateful to the Master for giving me the chance to do this again."

Odette ducked towards Barsad and slashed him with her rapier, drawing a thin, bloody line on his left arm. He didn't even flinch. The giant man stepped towards her with startling speed, ramming his shoulder into her chest and sending her to the ground. He swung a hammer around fluidly and crushed it into her leg, shattering it in a dozen places. She screamed.

"They tell me that you are a healer, little one," Barsad laughed. "Well, let's put your powers to the test."

Odette forced herself to roll out of the path of the second hammer, gasping as shards of shattered stone tore up her back. She'd never felt pain this intense before. Her body cried out in protest as her magic worked to reknit her bones and seal her cuts. She'd never had to heal so fast before.

Odette stumbled to her feet and started backing up again, wondering briefly if she should turn and run. _He could catch me in seconds,_ she thought to herself, dismayed. Barsad did not give her an inch. He kept up in his dogged pursuit, matching her step for step and stride for stride, his twin hammers pounding the street where she'd been just moments before.

They were nearing the edge of the wharf district, which terrified Odette. As far as she knew, only the coastal districts of the city had been evacuated. They were nearing populated areas. _God, I hope they've had the sense to get out of here._

Barsad lunged forwards again, and rather than duck aside, Odette stepped towards him and rammed her saber into his chest, driving the point all the way through to the other side. Barsad grinned at her, and then rammed the head of a hammer into her stomach, throwing her three feet into the wall of a building. She felt something break under the impact. She collapsed to the ground, and didn't even have time to dodge away before a hammer hit her chest, destroying her ribcage.

Odette coughed up blood and realized that she couldn't breathe. Her lungs had been punctured by shattered ribs. Barsad stepped back and laughed as her body desperately tried to heal itself. Just when she felt her bones coming together again, he struck her again, in the same place. Blood spattered onto the wall behind her, and she moaned softly. Her head lolled down and she saw her chest cavity, pulverized into a grisly mess. Her brain was starting to get frantic. She couldn't move. She couldn't think. She wasn't healing fast enough. He was going to kill her.

Barsad raised his bloody hammer again, ready to swing it down and crush her skull.

xxx

Kariena watched a soldier run Sebjorn through with a wicked blade. The Jotun turned to lash at the man, and was skewered again from the other side. He collapsed to one knee, and a dozen more soldiers fell upon the ice giant in moments, their blades gleaming red in the violent light of fires sweeping through the city.

She tore her gaze away and tried not to think about it. There would others she could save, and there would be time to mourn afterwards. For now, she had to survive. The redhead ran back into the fight and teleported, stepping through the arcana to appear just behind an opponent, a little burst of pastel-colored energy accompanying her. She rammed two daggers into the man's back and tore them out, dragging viscera with her as she stepped back into the void.

Kariena was a deadly dancer among the enemy, appearing and reappearing with precision, never letting more than one soldier get close to her at a time. She cut through them with ease, taking down a dozen or more in a minute, but it wasn't enough. The enemy didn't need to go through her; it went around her, pushing ever-deeper into the city, overwhelming the Arendane soldiers the sheer brutality of overwhelming forces.

She looked up from another man as she planted a knife between his eyes, seeing a roving band of the enemy advancing towards the occupied districts of the city. She growled and left the corpse behind, dashing along the blood-slicked street after them.

She came within throwing distance to the soldiers and teleported again, appearing in a crouch right in the middle of their group. She spun her knives around, and they glinted brilliantly.

"Where do you boys think you're going?" She said, smiling sweetly.

All at once, they rushed towards her.

Kariena ducked underneath a pair of overly ambitious attacks and caught a third against the blade of one of her knives. Unlike a sword, which would have the length and stability to catch a blow head-on, Kariena merely diverted the blow, letting it slide off of her knife into the stone street instead. She planted her other knife in a man's shoulder and twisted around him, tearing her knife out and teleporting to the other side of the ring, where she appeared in a crouch and swept about with her knives, slashing tendons and sending the soldiers to the ground screaming. She sidestepped a spear and let it plow into the ground beside her, ducking underneath it and ramming her knife up into the man's chin.

She ducked around him and threw her other knife into a soldier's head, then teleported to him, tearing the knife back out and twisting to slash the throat of the last unfortunate man, showering her arm with warm blood. The corpses hit the ground with wet thuds, and she retrieved her knives. She tried to force down her disgust as she was forced to dig her blade out of one man's viscera.

 _You know, for being undead, these guys sure do bleed a lot,_ she mused.

A sudden, familiar scream drew her attention. Kariena glanced up, startled. _That sounds like Odette!_

She ran again, pounding around a corner to see her friend lying in a crumpled, bloody heap against a building, a giant man with two hammers winding up for the finishing blow just above her. For a heartbeat, Kariena froze, her mind playing Hans's death back before her eyes.

Not again. Never again.

" _NO!_ " She shouted, throwing one of her knives at the man. The whirling blade flew straight as an arrow and buried itself to the hilt right between the man's shoulder blades. Kariena dashed a few feet, jumped into the air, and teleported across the distance between them.

In that time, Barsad glanced up laconically. He turned and extended an arm to the side, twisting the head of his hammer slightly. Kariena appeared there, and there was a loud _crack._ She gasped in pain and collapsed to the ground, hissing and slinging her other knife into the giant man's neck. It bit into his flesh with a thud, and still he barely seemed to notice.

"Why…" Kariena groaned, dragging herself back to her feet, "wont… you… die?"

She picked up a loose flagstone, breaking a nail in the process, and ducked underneath a rather lazy attack, leaping up underneath his guard to bash the stone into his head. He stumbled sideways, and she teleported ten feet away, immediately falling into a crouch and clutching at her stomach, fighting back tears of pain.

"An excellent question, little witch," Barsad said, grinning as he slowly drew the knife from his own neck and threw it to the side, where it hit Odette's neck with a dull thud. The girl's eyes flickered.

Kariena screamed with fury, and teleported to him again, appearing just behind him and tearing her knife from his back. She whirled about, ducking away from his spinning hammers and stabbing him once, twice, three times in the stomach before the haft of one of his weapon caught her and threw her to the ground. Kariena started to scramble to her feet, but one of Barsad's hammers took her in the shoulder and crushed the bones.

She screamed again.

"You wonder why you cannot stop me?" Barsad continued, still grinning like a child in a candy shop. "It is because I have accepted the Master's blessings, little witch. Perhaps if you beg, I will spare you so that you too can know this joy."

Kariena tried to move, but found that she couldn't. She had no weapons, and nowhere to run. She'd tried to save Odette, but she was just going to get herself pointlessly killed instead. She tried to keep her eyes open, but ended up squeezing them shut.

Barsad sounded almost disappointed as he said, "Very well, then. I will enjoy this, little witch."

xxx

Elsa screamed, and her entire body exploded with magic, her eyes streaming brilliant white and little wisps of ice trailing off of her skin. She raised her arms and summoned a wall of ice that split the chamber exactly in half, running over the Worldgate up to the vaulted ceiling. A heartbeat later, it was pounded by dozens of different bursts of arcana and elements, but none broke through.

"Mistress! I demand that you run!" Verne cried out over the cacophony. He glanced over at his mistress, brow creased with worry. Her face was a mask of concentration as she maintained the barrier, withstanding the outnumbered onslaught of thirty different wizards who could bombard it. He had never seen anything like it. Her eyes were bright white, ablaze with arcane frost. "Fighting them is suicide!"

Elsa's soldiers, on the other hand, ran to the Worldgate. Three of them formed a defensive perimeter around the others and leveled rifles at the army of wizards, ready to fire when the wall broke. The others started examining the portal itself, trying to find out how to make it work.

"This… isn't… up… for… debate… Verne," Elsa growled, shooting a sidelong glance at him as her brow beaded with sweat. Her arms still extended towards the barrier, one gripping Rimeheart as well. Twin jets of frost shot from them into the wall, holding back a tide of death on the other side.

"We need to figure out how to activate the portal!" DaLeuc shouted back to them. "Verne, help us!"

He glanced between his mistress and the men, clearly torn. His duty was to protect Elsa. How best could he serve that goal? By standing by her side and intercepting the first stray firebolt that crept past her defenses? Or by trusting in her abilities as the Protector and looking for a way to get them out of here?

He dashed towards the soldiers, and slid to the ground beside them. He now saw why they had chosen this place to kneel; there was a small metal plate on the fencing that surrounded the portal here, and it was inset with writing. A strange, unfamiliar writing.

 _Oh, dear gods._

"I'm… going… to… drop… the… wall!" Elsa screamed to them.

Then she did. In an instant, Elsa's soldiers erupted with gunfire, shooting towards the suddenly exposed wizards on the other side. Elsa started to dash _towards_ the wall of wizards, passing Rimeheart to her left hand and crafting a giant shield of ice in front of herself to take blows while she crossed the chamber.

Verne looked back at the metal plate, terrified. His brain felt sluggish. Someone had to know how to read the writing.

He glanced over at Cuperio, who called back, "It's not our language! I've never seen anything like it!"

Verne realized for the first time that he was murmuring to himself, "Oh dear, oh dear," over and over again. He looked back at the plate and desperately tried to get himself to make sense of the text.

Elsa passed Rimeheart back to her right hand as she hit the wall of wizards, dropping her shield and ramming the sword into the ground. A shockwave of cold blasted outwards, a rolling blue hemisphere of energy that tossed wizards away like leaves on the wind, clearing Elsa space. A pyromancer whipped a lash of flame towards her, and she deftly twisted Rimeheart to intercept the attack, ducking underneath a psion's blade and twisting between them.

A fireball hit the psion square in the chest, and he screamed. Elsa kept moving like a whirlwind, summoning a rotating storm of ice-barriers around herself to deflect her enemies' attacks. She threw an icicle towards Novendon, standing half the room away. _Betrayer._ He ducked away from her attack, and shouted something over the mess that she couldn't hear.

Another cryomancer stepped into Elsa's path, summoning a torrent of ice themselves and advancing towards her, walking in the middle of a blizzard. Elsa grinned, despite herself.

 _This is my domain, wizard._

She dashed towards him and threw Rimeheart to the side, where it spiraled into a group of wizards and hit the ground with another shockwave, keeping them occupied. Then she started throwing bolts of ice at the cryomancer. He blocked the first one against a pane of ice, then ducked the second. He tried to fit in a counterattack, but she didn't let up. He started to backpedal, a pinprick of worry in his eyes. Elsa made the ground beneath herself slick and skidded across the distance between them, refusing to let him escape.

He managed to get an attack in, a lazy bolt of ice that wouldn't even have hit if she'd ben standing still. _Pathetic._ Elsa twisted and _caught_ the bolt, finishing a full turn and slinging the icicle back into the man's gut. He stumbled, and his defenses faltered, if only momentarily. Elsa clenched one fist, and a block of ice encased his head, and then crushed inwards.

He collapsed to the ground.

Elsa whirled back around and extended her right hand; Rimeheart spun into it a moment later. She was put on the defensive by a sudden string of attacks from the other wizards, and she started to back up, summoning a larger barrier in front of herself and letting it move. She was headed towards a wall, which was bad, and there were actually still a few wizards on her side of the barrier, which was worse.

One drew a sword and started to run towards her. The man's form suddenly _blurred,_ and Elsa instinctively raised Rimeheart. The man _blurred_ into existence again beside her, his sword scraping against hers. He cursed. Elsa threw a shoulder into his chest, knocking him off balance, and made the ground underneath him ice. He started to fall, and she summoned a spike beneath him. He collapsed onto it and impaled himself, his body stopping a few inches off of the ground and dripping red onto the icy floor.

During her fighting with the sprinter, her concentration on the barrier lapsed, and in an instant it burst. Elsa heard a pained scream, and she whirled about to see that one of her soldiers was down. She growled and threw another barrier in front of her troops, but in the next moment, something heavy collided with her and she hit the ground, hard.

Elsa rolled and came up to see a burly man wearing full armor in front of her. He swung a flail in her direction, the heavy ball crunching into the stone where she'd been a moment before. She started backpedaling, hazarding a glance to the right and throwing a few bolts of ice at several wizards advancing on her men. The icicles weren't well aimed, but they succeeded in distracting them for a few precious seconds. A round of gunfire cracked in the air as her soldiers took a few of them down.

The bruiser in front of Elsa kept advancing, keeping her attention with powerful overhand swings and making her dodge away. She gritted her teeth, trying not to panic when her back touched the far wall. She was separated from her men, and no less than thirty wizards were converging on her. Even if they managed to activate the Worldgate, she was in no position to reach it safely.

The bruiser lowered his head and charged Elsa. She made the ground underneath her slick and fell into a slide, bringing Rimeheart up and passing right between the man's legs. A thunderous clap filled the chamber as she pushed herself back to her feet, the large man falling into two separate pieces behind her. Before she could continue the fight against the wizards advancing on her, however, Novendon spoke, his voice surprisingly clear over the blood rushing in Elsa's ears.

"Enough of this. We have shed far too much blood today."

She turned a wary eye on him. Her fingertips grew cold, and a bit of magic played between them. _Is this a distraction?_ She wondered.

"You cannot best us all, Elsa. You are powerful, but we are many. If you turn yourself over to us, then we will allow the rest of your men to live."

She glanced past him towards the others. Two of them now lay dead on the floor. When had Cuperio died? She hadn't heard it over the fighting, but it was a gruesome sight. The man had been burned to bits by a pyromancer.

"And what? You'll kill me?" Elsa replied, not really caring what the answer was, but looking for a moment to stall.

 _I need to swear the next Oath,_ she thought. The trouble was, though by now she realized that she only seemed to learn the Words in moments of great danger, she had no idea how to trigger it. She tried to visualize the scabbard in her mind, tried to recall some sort of mental image of the hieroglyphics. It was elusive.

" _We_ have no intention of killing you," Novendon said. "We reserve that privilege for the Master. It does not take kindly to betrayal."

Elsa glanced back to her men. A group of wizards had corralled them, and they'd dropped their weapons. She saw the fear in their eyes.

 _I need to do this._

Nothing came.

"Well, Elsa?" Novendon said, smugly.

 _Please,_ she thought desperately.

Nothing came.


	33. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

 _In total, there are five classes of archmagi. At least, that is what we currently believe. It seems that it is rare that more than one archmagi is alive at a time, and often centuries pass between each iteration of, say, the Protector. We have had to make some assumptions about whether certain individuals were merely uniquely powerful wizards, or whether they were a member of an elite classification._

 _The Bard Rhennalus_

 _from 'The Histories'_

* * *

Northern Foothills,

Arendelle

October 6th, 1843

It was shortly past midnight, and vaguely Anna realized that it was a new day. Surely, that meant something symbolically. Surely, they had reason to hope? She glanced up and looked first at Kristoff, and then at Montaigne. The two men with her in the carriage had dozed off, heads resting back on the leather interior of the cubby. Anna wasn't sure how they could manage to sleep at a time like this.

She shifted her weight and felt her unborn child kick again. _Tonight's not the night to be fussy, little one._ Despite the relative comfort of their carriage, Anna found that she only grew more anxious as the minutes crawled by.

 _Now isn't the time to feel guilty,_ she told herself again. It had always been the plan to evacuate pregnant mothers and small children first. Somehow, she'd just never thought to include herself in that group. The carriage that they rode in was far more luxurious than the packed mail carriages that the rest of the refugees had to make to with, but she hadn't asked for the accommodation. The soldiers had insisted upon it. They'd said that it would be bad for morale if commoners saw their princess fleeing in the same state of near-squalor that the rest did.

It would be far less costly to round up a nicer carriage for Anna and her companions. Apparently. She was broken from her ruminations a moment later by a soft voice.

"You should try to get some sleep, miss," Montaigne said, careful not to wake Kristoff.

Anna started, and glanced over to see the aged servant opening one eye to look at her.

"I thought you were asleep!" She replied in a whisper. "You frightened me."

Montaigne smiled slightly. "No, but I thought that maybe it would have been easier for you to fall asleep if you'd thought both Kristoff and I were."

"I don't think that I could, Montaigne," Anna said sadly. "I just… I just keep thinking about the people we left back there to die."

Montaigne didn't try to hide the fact that he was troubled by this, too. The aged man sat in silence for a few seconds before he replied. "The older that I get, miss, the more that I come to realize that there are things I can do, and things that I cannot.

"I am a scholar and a servant, not a warrior," he continued softly. "My place is in a library or a private study, gathering and dispensing knowledge, not on a battlefield. In this new world that we live in, it may seem like there isn't a place for someone like me. I may seem less useful than a skilled warrior. And tonight, perhaps that is true. But it will not always be true."

Montaigne had been gazing out of the window. He sat with his back to the front of the carriage, and Anna knew what he was looking towards. Arendelle was reflected in his eyes, a burning skyline in the distance. Anna's only home, going up in bloody flames.

"Someday, the world will need someone like you again, Anna. It may not be tomorrow, and it may not be the day after, but some day, we will be glad to have kept a mother, and a sister, and a friend. The battles that we fight today do not diminish our need for compassion, and love, and humor, tomorrow. I should think that, if anything, they _increase_ our need for it. After all the violence is over, we're going to need someone who can help us put the pieces back together. _You_ will be that person, Anna Siguror."

Anna nodded. She realized that silent tears were streaking her cheeks. Montaigne smiled kindly, the same sadness plain on his face.

"I remember a young lady who always had a smile on her face," he said softly. "I hope that I live long enough to see that smile again."

Anna brushed her tears away with the back of her hand and sniffled. "Me too."

Suddenly, there was a horrible crack. Gunfire. Kristoff started awake in time to hear a flurry of gunshots and screaming. He moved protectively in front of Anna, and the trio sat in terrified silence. The sounds of fighting faded after less than a minute. They exchanged glances, and Kristoff slowly drew two pistols. He flipped one around and pressed the grip into Anna's hand. She looked back at him with terrified eyes. Anna hadn't ever fired a gun before. As a matter of fact, she couldn't remember if she'd ever held one before. She glanced at the hammer, recognizing that it was primed.

For a time, nothing happened.

Then the door to their carriage was thrown open. Anna barely had time to realize that she didn't recognize the man before Kristoff shot him. The man's head snapped back and an arc of blood sprayed them as the man collapsed.

"It's time to go, I think," Kristoff said, voice surprisingly calm as he placed a hand on Anna's arm and slipped out of the carriage, towing his wife along with him. Montaigne followed and they slipped around the back side.

The carriages had been stopped near a bend in the trail leading them through the more densely forested portion of the northern foothills, and their personal van had been at the back of the group. Bodies of men and horses were scattered around the edges of the caravan. It didn't seem that any of the guard had made it. There were, Kristoff noticed, maybe two dozen rough-looking men split up among the other carriages, corralling the refugees in the center of the ambush area.

Heads swiveled towards their carriage as they ducked behind it, drawn by the gunfire. The ambushers had not met resistance with any of the others, it seemed. Shouts started up, and huddled behind the back of the carriage, Kristoff made a decision. He set his jaw and started to speak quickly.

"Anna, I want you to run," he unlatched the trunk of the carriage and pulled it open, drawing out two packs of supplies and tossing them to his wife and Montaigne. "Montaigne, you should go with her."

"Yes, Lord Bjorgmann," Montaigne said, shouldering one of the packs.

"Wha- NO!" Anna yelled, throwing herself in front of Kristoff and meeting his eyes. "I'm not going to leave you here! They'll kill you!"

"If I run too, they'll chase us into the woods," Kristoff said, part of him wondering if he was actually strong enough to do this. "And we'll all die. If you stay, you'll die. The only way that I can give you a chance is by sticking around long enough to make a distraction."

"No, no, no," Anna moaned, too terrified to cry. "Kristoff, they already took Elsa. Please don't leave me, too. I need you."

Kristoff smiled as he looked down at his wife. "I won't leave you, Anna. I'm just giving you a head start. I promise that I'll catch up after a few minutes." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Go to the Jotun. If Everdark's people are already here, then they've taken Anders and the other villages. The ice giants will not turn away someone in need."

Tears fell freely from Anna's face now, and her voice became a ragged whisper. "Promise me."

Kristoff smiled sadly at her. "I love you. Now go."

Anna felt Montaigne place a hand on her shoulder, and before she could say anything else they turned and they ran, dashing into the trees from behind the cover of the little carriage. Kristoff watched them go, still smiling. _Godspeed, my love._

He turned and ducked around the side of the carriage, firing two shots into the group of approaching men before he ducked back. A few bullets snapped against the side of the carriage, and a splinter of wood stung his arm.

"Why aren't they running?" One of the men said, confused.

"Does it matter?" Another said. "Let's just kill 'em and get on with it."

Kristoff glanced down at his pistol. It was a six-shot revolver, recommended to him by Hans. So he had three bullets left. There were maybe twenty ambushers left. In his haste to flee, Kristoff hadn't brought any other weapons. The odds were certainly against him.

 _I need to get to the corpse of one of the guards,_ he thought. _They'll have another gun. That is, provided one of these guys hasn't already taken it._

Kristoff continued to pace around the side of the carriage, ducking around to one of the sides just as the soldiers stepped around to the back. One exclaimed surprise. It sounded like four, maybe five men were behind the carriage now. That left some fifteen in the clearing beyond, rounding up the other prisoners and keeping an eye on things over here. So his odds were better with the men following him. Naturally, Kristoff raised his pistol and ducked back to meet them.

He fired his remaining three shots in a blur, dropping three of the four men. He rammed his shoulder into the fourth, who he was quite a bit bigger than, throwing the man into the carriage, where he squeezed two shots off. Kristoff felt nothing. The man's aim had gone wild. He punched the soldier in the face, but he formed a fist poorly, and he felt his knuckles break as the man's head snapped back. Kristoff swore as the man slumped to the ground, and he kicked the fellow for good measure.

Then he retrieved one of their guns, ignoring the rifles and instead opting for another pistol, because he wasn't sure he'd be able to fire a rifle with his left hand. _Wow, that punch was remarkably stupid._

More of the enemy were shouting, now, and he heard more footsteps as they came to corner him. Normal people would have been frightened, less likely to approach a man who'd just killed several of his comrades. The servants of Everdark, however, were fearless in the sort of way only a man who did not fear death could be.

Kristoff was ready as the first man jumped around the left side of the carriage, and he put a bullet between his eyes. The next came around the right, and Kristoff shot him. Then he turned around and started to back away from the van, emptying the rest of the pistol's chambers left, right, left, right and felling a few more of the soldiers. He felt a hot sting as a bullet found his abdomen, and he crumpled to one knee. Another thud and blossom of pain marked a hit in his shoulder. He fell to his other knee now, and let the spent pistol topple from his hand into the dirt.

"Where's the others?" One shouted. "There was a woman and an old man!"

"They must have escaped into the forest!"

 _I've given you all the help that I can,_ Kristoff thought. _I hope that it's enough. I love you, Anna. I love you so much._

One of the soldiers broke from the others and walked over to Kristoff, calling over his shoulder to the others, "It doesn't matter. We'll execute the rest and then go after them. A pregnant woman and an old man won't get too far."

 _I hope you understand, one day, why I had to do this. I hope that you forgive me. I hope our child does, too._

The soldier drew his pistol and shot Kristoff in the head.

xxx

"Well, Elsa?" The lead wizard said, his underlings spreading around the chamber to encircle her.

Verne tore his gaze away and looked back at the inscription on the edge of the Worldgate, mind feeling sluggish and unresponsive. There had to be a way to get it to work. Surely, that was how Novendon had brought the others into the tower? Perhaps they had sabotaged it.

Though he couldn't read the language on the plate, he'd figured out, with relative certainty, what language it must be. It was not written in the language used by natives of the City of Brass; that much, the others had confirmed. It had to be written, then, in the language of the Celestians, the ancient civilization who had produced the first true masters of magic in the ancient world. They would have been the ones to explore the Sea of Stars and send humans to colonize it. The Worldgate had to be the original portal that they had used to traverse the planes.

Of course, this didn't help much when his hands were being bound by a pyromancer. He glanced at the remainder of Elsa's soldiers. DaLeuc met his eyes grimly.

 _Elsa is far too noble to refuse surrender._

"You'll let them live?" He heard her say.

One by one, Verne met eyes with the rest of the soldiers, and was met with the same grim resolve. Now was not the time to surrender. Now was not the time to give up.

"Of course," Novendon said smoothly. "No harm will befall them."

Now was the time for heroic sacrifices.

"For the Protector!" DaLeuc shouted, and rammed his head into the pyromancer binding his hands. The wizard stumbled backwards, and in a moment the man had recovered his gun and he was shooting.

The rest of the soldiers exploded into action, firing wildly into the wizards to draw attention. Verne met eyes with Elsa, even as a man beside him was torn to pieces by an unseen power.

"To me, mistress!" He shouted, calling upon the power inside himself. He saw betrayal in her eyes, but he didn't care. Elsa Siguror would not die today.

Elsa started to charge across the space between them, attacks dissipating before they could touch her. Verne's body was lacerated, burned, and bruised as he bore the pain for her. He fought back the pain as one of his hands was sliced off, an arc of blood spilling into the air. He tried not to hear the cries of pain as DaLeuc fell behind him. A lone tear rolled down his cheek as Elsa burst from the crowd of wizards, dashing across the space towards him.

He didn't have to tell her the plan. She already knew what it was.

She was crying as he met him, throwing her arms around him and leaping into the Worldgate. A storm of arcana raged above them as they tumbled into the void.

"Why, Verne?" Elsa screamed at him, letting anger cover her fear. "Why die for me?"

Verne managed to smile through a broken jaw. "Because, mistress. You are worth fighting for."

They hit the energy of the portal, and Verne felt a sudden heat. "Goodbye, Elsa Siguror. You are a good woman."

He disintegrated into flames as they tumbled into the portal, bearing the pain for her, keeping her whole as the magic tried to tear her apart. Elsa cried out, and then she passed into the void.

xxx

When she opened her eyes, Elsa found herself standing in a sea of white. It was as if she were inside a cloud, the way the shifting mass moved about her. She glanced around.

 _Oh, no. It didn't work. I'm dead._

 _You are not dead, Elsa Siguror,_ a voice seemed to appear inside of her head.

She looked around but could not find the source of the voice.

"Where am I, then?" She asked carefully, trying to keep her voice steady. Free of grief.

 _You are using the Worldgate._ _Where do you wish to be?_

"Home," she immediately said. "Can you take me there?"

 _That depends,_ the voice seemed to say.

"On what?" She demanded, whirling about again. There was nothing to see here.

 _Your friends made a great and noble sacrifice for you, Elsa Siguror. The least that you could do to repay them is speak the next Oath, I think._

Elsa found something about this voice to be familiar, but she couldn't place it.

"I tried," she said, savagely. "I can't figure out what they are."

 _You do not believe that you are ready for them?_

"It has nothing to do with whether I think that I'm ready," she said, getting more and more annoyed at the lightly mocking tone the voice had taken. "I just… I just know them, when I know them. Nothing came to me, back there."

 _Ah. I see._ The voice said, seeming a bit sad. _Perhaps it_ isn't _time, then. Well, we must all progress at our own pace._

Elsa frowned. "Just say what you want to say and stop playing with me. I have no time for games."

 _Patience, Elsa Siguror. I would think that you would realize by now, that the quickest way to get where you want to go is not always the straightest path._

She growled and threw her hand to the side. Rimeheart materialized there.

"Take me to Arendelle," she commanded.

 _You are different than other Protectors, I think. The others were more patient._

"My friends are _dying,_ " she growled. "I don't have time for this."

 _And I'm trying to give you the tools that you need to save them,_ the voice said flatly. _Look inside yourself._

Elsa continued to glare into the whiteness, but slowly she flicked her wrist and dismissed her blade. Then she closed her eyes and did as she was told. She looked inside and saw fear. She saw anger. She saw a desire to fight and to protect the people that she loved. Below that, she realized that she wanted to protect more than just Odette, and Anna, and Montaigne. She wanted to save everyone. She wanted to save humanity.

But things seemed so bleak. Everdark was too strong. Deep down, she saw her own fear. If Ashanerat had failed to stop Everdark with all the knowledge of Celestus at her fingertips, how could Elsa possibly hope to do it? She was like a child, stumbling blind through a darkened room, desperate for an adult to come and turn on the lights. It was hopeless.

 _Ah!_ The voice said. _There we have it! Right there!_

"What?" Elsa said angrily. "You caught me. I don't think that we're going to win."

 _Why are you without hope, Elsa Siguror? Really, why? After all, you and your friends are continuing to fight. If you don't think that you can win, why bother?_

"Because I'm not just going to give up," Elsa said, still angry at this… whatever it was, for bothering her.

 _Then surely, you must believe that there's a chance, right?_

Elsa frowned. "Look, I see what you're trying to do here. Yes, I should be more hopeful."

 _I don't give a damn if_ you're _hopeful, Protector, but think of the others! If their most powerful wizard doesn't think that they can win, how can you expect them to go on?_

Elsa realized after a moment that it was waiting for an answer. "I don't know," she admitted.

 _You have been charged with leading humanity through very trying times, Elsa Siguror. Whether you like it or not, that means you're going to have to be someone that the weak can look to and see the reason that they shouldn't give up! Do you want them to give up?_

"No," Elsa admitted softly.

 _What was that?_

"No!" Elsa shouted back, and suddenly, the Words were in her head. Not spoken by the voice, but there nonetheless. She spoke them aloud.

"I will bring hope to those who need it."

 _Fuck yes, you will. Make sure to give Everdark hell for me._

xxx

"Very well, then." Barsad said, standing above Kariena with a grim, sad smile. "I will enjoy this, little witch."

Odette was barely lucid. She could feel her body rapidly going hot and cold as it struggled to call upon magics strong enough to heal itself. She wasn't sure that it could. She couldn't move her arms, but she knew that she needed to get the knife out of her neck.

 _What does it matter, anyway? Even if I could heal myself, that man's just going to break me all over again._

It was hopeless.

Odette glanced towards Kariena, and silently thanked the girl for trying to save her.

 _Maybe you'll meet Hans again, in the afterlife. Maybe you'll finally manage to break down those walls of his._

There was a sudden burst of light in the sky, so bright that Odette cringed downwards against the wall, thinking it had to be a shell exploding above them. But it was brighter. Whiter, than an explosion. She weakly looked up, and saw a brilliant white glow above the fires, above the smoke, and above the clouds themselves. It was rapidly spreading, a brilliant disk among the heavens, getting wider and wider. Almost as if it were getting closer.

A meteor burst through the clouds, streaking down from the sky towards Arendelle, trailing a white gleam behind itself. For a moment, everyone stopped to look at it. Ten thousand eyes turned upwards to stare at the little piece of the heavens.

 _It's beautiful,_ Odette thought in addled sort of way. She realized that it wasn't touching down on the horizon, however. It was headed right at her, getting bigger by the second. _What?_

Elsa hit the ground ten feet from Kariena and Odette's crumpled forms. Brilliant light exploded outwards, a rapid dome spreading out to engulf the city in a matter of heartbeats. Odette couldn't see anything but white for almost ten seconds. When her vision finally cleared, she saw Elsa crouching in the middle of a crater in the street, one hand placed on the ground to stabilize herself.

She looked up at Barsad, and Odette gasped.

Elsa's eyes were completely obscured by magic. Glowing trails of white leaked from her eyes, complementing the soft wisps of arcana rising from her skin.

In the time that she'd known Elsa, Odette had felt all sorts of things for the woman. Hero-worship, friendship, and love. She'd never felt awe before this moment.

Barsad abandoned Kariena and rushed towards Elsa, bellowing something in a guttural language long dead to this world. She moved fluidly, with a sublime, divine grace, rising to meet him and swinging her sword around almost lazily. Her blade met his hammers with a flash of light. Quickly they fell into an exchange of blows, precise and exacting, their weapons glancing off of each other at lightning speed.

Odette slowly reached up and managed to get a weak hand around the knife in her neck. After a moment, she decided to palpate around her neck to make sure that her head wouldn't fall off if she got the blade out. Satisfied, she set her jaw and tore out the blade. She tried to ignore the pain, tried not too look at the blood, as she tossed the weapon to the side. She felt lightheaded and woozy, and wondered briefly if this was some sort of fevered vision.

She opened her eyes again, and saw a group of enemy soldiers forming up at the end of the street, clearly not eager to get in the way of the duel. They were loading rifles, getting ready to shoot if Elsa won. Odette tried to shout a warning but found that she couldn't form words.

 _Of course, you idiot. You had a knife in your neck until a few seconds ago._

She glanced back to the fighting and saw Elsa twist over one of her foe's hammers, spinning in the air and using her free hand to shoot two bolts of ice at Barsad's legs. They were skewered around the kneecaps, and he collapsed to the ground. Elsa landed and, with a clean sweep of her blade, she beheaded him.

The man's head tumbled into the air and then froze where it was, a thin trail of ice connecting it to where his headless torso remained. She turned fluidly and threw out her free hand just as the soldiers at the other end of the street fired their guns, and the bullets _stopped._

Odette's trachea had healed just enough to let her gasp in shock as the spray of gunfire hung motionless in the air ten feet from Elsa. It wasn't coated with ice, and she hadn't summoned some sort of barrier. They were just… stopped. The soldiers seemed to realize that their odds were slim, and they turned and started to run.

Elsa stared after them for a few moments, eyes blazing with magic. She seemed to consider pursuing them, but after a moment her eyes extinguished and she let them go, instead turning and walking over to where Odette lay. She extended a hand towards Odette to help her up, smiling.

"It looks like I showed up just in time," Elsa said.

Odette dove for Elsa, leaping up on unsteady feet and throwing her arms around Elsa's neck, burying her face in Elsa's shoulder. She tried to speak, but found that she couldn't make words, just yet, so she just squeezed even harder, as if Elsa would disappear if she let go again. Elsa wrapped her arms around Odette and held her back.

After a few sweet seconds, Odette stepped around Elsa and dashed to where Kariena lay, calling her last bit of strength and pressing her hands to the redhead's chest.

"Thanks, Elsa. You did," Kariena said, turning and smiling weakly as little trails of gold began to wend their way to her wounds and reknit them. "That was some incredible stuff you did."

Elsa glanced up at the bullets that still hung motionless in the air. She reached out and tapped one with her finger, and it fell to the ground, landing with a little plink.

"Thanks. I actually didn't even know that I could do this."

She turned back as Odette helped Kariena to her feet. "Where's Anna, and Montaigne, and all the rest? You got them to safety?"

Odette nodded. "Anna, Kristoff, and Montaigne all got evacuated from the city before the fighting started, earlier tonight. They're on their way to Anders right now."

Elsa nodded. "Are they going to try to escape by ship?"

"That's the plan, at least," Odette said.

"Where to?"

Odette and Kariena exchanged a glance. "We're not sure," Kariena said. "The invasion just began. We don't know which countries haven't been attacked."

Elsa nodded again. "That's going to have to do, for now. Where are the front lines? I should be making sure they hold."

"The lines have broken," Kariena said, glancing up and down the street they were on. It wasn't a particularly large one, but it was still eerie how quiet it had become, a stark juxtaposition against the screaming and the gunfire from moments before. Below their conversation, there was still the steady drumbeat of war in the distance, however. The fighting was far from over. "The enemy has moved into the city, and some of the residential areas are still occupied."

"What?" Elsa said, shocked. "I thought you said that people had already been evacuated!"

"We only had the resources to evacuate the most vulnerable people," Odette said quickly. "Pregnant mothers and children. Montaigne and Kristoff made it out with them, but there's still quite a few civilians left in the city. We thought that Everdark's forces were going to lay siege. We thought… we thought that we'd be able to hold them for longer."

Elsa stared into the distance for a long moment, not blinking. Then she spoke rapidly.

"Both of you, get somewhere safe and eat the largest meal you can. You're going to need to use your magic a lot before the night is out. Once you're done, _don't_ try to find me. Go find somewhere Arendanes are fighting without a wizard and help them if you can. I'll be doing what I can."

She turned and a trail of ice rapidly spiderwebbed across the ground before her as she got ready to run.

"Elsa!" Kariena said, just before she sprinted off into the fight. The queen's head whirled back around. "You're… you're still glowing. Even when you're not using magic.

Elsa smiled. "Oh, that's right, I almost forgot to tell you guys. Everdark kind of accidentally made me a god."

Then she turned and dashed away.

Odette glanced at Kariena, eyebrows raised.

"Well, I'm glad she's on our side," the redhead replied.


	34. Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

 _The Archmagi. Favored of the Lost Immortals, bearers of the last gift given to mankind. Sometimes I wonder if they are nothing more than a fanciful concoction of desperate mortals. Am I a fraud?_

 _The Bard Rhennalus_

 _from 'The Histories'_

* * *

New York City,

New York

October 6th, 1843

Novendon smothered his pain as the knife bit into his flesh. He twisted his wrist and squeezed below the wound with his other arm, causing blood to dribble onto the cold disk set into the floor. There was a soft sizzling noise, and steam rose from the dark stone. Novendon bowed his head as a supernatural chill rapidly spread into the chamber.

"We have taken the city, Master. There resistance has been defeated."

A deep thrumming struck up in the air.

"Good."

Everdark's voice was said to stoke fear in the hearts of lesser men, but Novendon was not a lesser man. He did not fear the God of Darkness. It had taken him quite some time to earn his position as the deity's second, but earn it he had, and now he dared raise his eyes to stare into the swirling darkness that filled the chamber about him.

"Have you heard from any of the others yet, Master?" Novendon asked.

The invasion had been divided into six distinct fronts. One, which was now being lead by Novendon after Elsa Siguror's unfortunate escape from Nahat'Tiemn, attacked New York in America. The second aimed to take China, while the third focused on Korea. The fourth invaded Egypt. The fifth entered Italy, planning to use the collection of city-states as a staging ground from which to launch campaigns into mainland Europe. The last invasion force was fighting to take Arendelle.

Novendon worried about the last one. Surely, Elsa would return to her own people after escaping. She had already sworn several of the Protector's Oaths, and though Everdark's forces did not know exactly how many, she was quickly becoming a great threat to the God of Darkness's plans. He had recommended that Everdark deploy himself and the rest of the wizards who had confronted her in Nahat'Tiemn to Arendelle to end her, once and for all.

But Everdark had refused. Indeed, once Everdark had learned that Elsa had escaped to Arendelle, the God of Darkness had withdrawn _all_ of its wizards from the fighting at the city state, leaving only ten thousand or so conventional troops behind. Novendon could not fathom why, but he had learned by now that it was best not to question the Master.

"Yes," Everdark replied, voice sounding almost thoughtful. "We have been very successful in every city except for Arendelle. I have heard from four of my lieutenants directly, including yourself, but I can sense that I will receive good news from Beijing very soon. Only Arendelle remains. Ever the thorn in my side, that little city."

The darkness swirled in an unfathomable pattern around Novendon, filling the chamber and eating up all of its light, all of its heat. Novendon had seen the form that Everdark manifested in – the grotesque combination of vulture, man, and beast, the mockery of nature that it used to strike fear into the hearts of mortals. But this – the swirling darkness that filled Novendon's chamber – this was Everdark's _true_ form. It was something great and terrible. Something beautiful.

"Perhaps it is time to go through with my earlier suggestion, Master," Novendon said. "The girl has grown strong, yes, but I am certain that we would be able to –"

"No," Everdark interjected. "I have taken too many chances with her before, and she has continued to make a fool of me. She can fight a man, or a dozen men. She cannot fight the world itself, turned against her. I will take no more chances."

Novendon bowed his head. What Everdark spoke of… the god was regaining its power. In ancient days, The God of Darkness had possessed the ability to sunder the earth itself. Perhaps the time had come for this to happen again.

"Yes, Master." Novendon could tell that they would be done speaking about Elsa.

"Eight months ago, when we gained control of Arendelle," Everdark rumbled, "we did so as legitimately as possible. We kept bloodshed to a minimum. We kept alive the traditional political institutions."

"Yes, Master."

"We have no need to limit ourselves to such small-minded applications of force, anymore," Everdark said. "More death will mean more fear. Kill them all."

Novendon bowed his head. "Yes, Master."

Darkness fled the chamber.

xxx

Elsa was too busy fighting to recognize that this night was starting to shape up like a vision she'd had before.

She rammed her shoulder into a man, sending him backwards into a crowd of his own. Then she extended both of her hands and blasted them with ice, freezing them solid. A sword swung at her from the left, but in an instant an Arendane soldier stepped in the way, blocking the attack off of a large shield. Another of her men shot the attacker twice, and he collapsed.

Elsa looked around, realizing that once again, she and her men were alone in this little street. All of their enemies lay dead on the ground.

"You did well, men," she said wearily, glancing around at the ten or so soldiers who milled about around her, checking their fallen comrades for a pulse.

This had originally been a deployment of one hundred. When she'd found them, they'd been completely surrounded, getting picked off by enemy fire. All of their ranking officers were dead, Elsa realized. They had no direction.

"Retreat," she told them. "Get out of the city, if you can."

The haggard men looked up at her, surprised to hear her telling them to abandon the fighting.

"If you can't make it that far, get as far away from the fires as you can, find a building, and hide in it."

They just stood there, staring at her.

"That's an order," she said. Slowly, they abandoned their dead and headed off into the night. Elsa sighed. They were shell-shocked, and she couldn't blame them. She was growing hardened by now, and even still, she'd seen a disturbing amount of death tonight.

 _So tired…_ her body yearned to stop. Her muscles screamed with exhaustion, and each time she called magic, there was a bit more resistance. She knew that soon, her powers would give out.

But now was not the time to give up.

She turned and started to skate, quickly speeding up and raising herself into the air, coming to a stop at a nearby rooftop. She stepped off of her icy track onto its shingles, walking up to the crest of the roof and staring out into the city. Great plumes of smoke trailed into the air from a hundred different places, reaching far back into the city by now. Elsa was proud of her city for being prepared to fight, but they had been hopelessly outmatched.

Arendelle was a large city, but not until tonight had Elsa realized how much of a liability that could be. On a hundred streets in a hundred different places in this city, her men were being overrun. The forces of darkness were breaking into homes and slaughtering civilians. And she couldn't save them all. Hell, she barely had the strength left to stop a couple of them.

Elsa slowly leaned against the stone chimney, rising from the rooftop beside her. _This fight is not theirs,_ she thought sadly. Faint screams reached her ears. _It's not mine, either. How did we all get swept up in this?_

She slid down the rooftop and headed after the screams.

xxx

Odette knelt over a whimpering man in a makeshift infirmary towards the northern edge of the city. He was a civilian, judging by his clothes, but that hadn't saved him from danger. His left leg had been severed at the knee, and it was currently wrapped in a ragged, bloody cloth. The man's skin was pallid, and waxy-looking from loss of blood. His breathing was ragged and irregular, and it seemed to be very difficult for him to respond to her questions. Even still, Odette pestered him, trying to get him to remain conscious while she worked. She'd let a few pass out earlier during the night, only to find that they'd already died by the time she finished her healing.

"You still haven't told me your name," she said as she unwound the bandage. The fabric was ground into his flesh in several places. She fought down her revulsion and tried not to cause him any more pain as she picked it out.

"J-jacob," he gasped, wincing. He gazed up, towards the building's low ceiling. It had once been a schoolhouse.

Odette barely made out his words over the moaning in the infirmary. She felt her body grow very cold again as she called her magic and placed her blood-caked hands to the man's stump leg. He let out a loud whimper.

"I knew a man named Jacob," she replied. "He was a friend of my father's. He was a very good man," she lied. In truth, he'd been a drunkard and a gambler. He'd thrown things.

"I'm –" the man's words were cut off as he heaved several times, eyes bulging in his face. "I'm going to die," he forced out, tears streaming down his face.

"No Jacob, you're not," Odette said soothingly, watching skin slowly form its way across his wound. "You're going to be just fine. Everything's going to be just fine."

Jacob turned and fixed his eyes on her. "Why did she abandon us?" He asked softly.

Odette winced. She pretended not to hear him, for a moment.

"You knew her," he continued. "Why did she abandon us? Maybe she could have used her powers to protect us."

The last time the citizens of Arendelle had heard from their queen, she'd abdicated the throne shortly after a terror attack at Condorcet square. Elsa had realized that she couldn't protect Arendelle by sitting back and waiting for the fight to come to them. But Odette could see how people would feel betrayed. She could see how they would wonder why their queen left shortly before things got so bad.

"Her majesty has returned tonight, Jacob," Odette said softly. "She is on the streets, doing what she can to protect her people."

Jacob didn't give any indication that he'd heard her reply. He stared at the ceiling again with glassy eyes, murmuring to himself. Odette sighed, and looked at his leg again. She'd done what she could. So she stood up and waved to a nearby nun, clad in black and white. The elderly woman walked over, lines of exhaustion creased into her face.

"Yes?" She said.

"Make sure that this man drinks lots of water," Odette said, looking down at Jacob. "Wet a cloth and squeeze it into his mouth, if you have to. Even though I closed his wound, he's still lost a lot of blood." Odette glanced back up, speaking more quietly. "He probably won't make it through the night, but that's the best chance we can give him."

The old woman nodded.

Odette glanced around the room. She wasn't sure how much more of this she could do.

"Alright. Who's the next one we're going to lose? I'll see what I can do to help them."

xxx

The Grandfather stood at the mouth of Bjoldhhe's little dwelling, watching the matronly giant fret over the two humans sitting on a woven mat in the center of her humble abode. She returned from the hearth with two bowls of a hearty stew and passed them to the humans, who mumbled grateful replies. She sat cross-legged beside them. They hadn't noticed him in the doorway.

"That was a very noble thing of Kristoff to do," she said in better English than any of the other Jotun could manage. Something about her had always been downright _human_.

"Thank you, Bulda," the old man said. His accented voice couldn't pronounce her name correctly.

The Grandfather closed his eyes. The world was changing. He couldn't afford to remain entrenched in his hatred. He was an old man, now. He needed to move on.

"I see that we have visitors, Bjoldhhe," he announced, stepping into her hut. She turned towards him, and he felt a pang of regret as she hummed a single note of Fear before quickly switching to Defiance. Yes, there had been times when he would have snapped at her for bringing humans to their camp. But now he forced himself to remain open-hearted.

"Yes, Khwentivre," she said, using his birth name.

"Why don't you call me father anymore?" He said in their own language, allowing his second voice to hum Sadness.

Bjoldhhe's second voice hummed Irritation, but she did not reply. Instead, she spoke again in English. "This is the wife of Kristoff, and one of her good friends. We _will_ provide them shelter in their hour of need."

The Grandfather glanced towards them. They looked truly pathetic, and scared. He felt another pang of guilt. "Yes, we will," he agreed, eliciting a short hum of Surprise from Bjoldhhe.

He knelt beside the young woman, studying her with his eyes of blue and green. Not turquoise, but equal parts of both colors, mixed in a swirl in his irises. She did not shrink back from his gaze, despite the fact that he could read loss plainly on her face.

The Grandfather had always had trouble reading emotion from human voices; they had no second hum to express their emotions. Only the pitch could indicate their feelings it seemed – and he'd always had a difficult time separating excitement from anger, calm from melancholy. On the other hand, their faces were an open book. They wore their hearts on their sleeves, and he could see great pain in her face.

"Where is Kristoff now, child?"

"Probably dead," she said softly. "We were ambushed on the way to Anders. Kristoff made us leave him behind."

"He provided a distraction to cover our escape," the old man added. "It was a noble act."

"You are with child," The Grandfather observed, looking at the young woman's stomach.

"Yes," she replied.

"He knew that you would not be able to flee quickly enough, unless he gave you time," The Grandfather observed.

"Yes," she replied, tears streaking her cheeks.

The Grandfather glanced at Bjoldhhe, unsurprised to hear her humming Mourning. The humans would not be able to hear it – it was a low hum, more of a vibration than anything. She'd always loved Kristoff like her own. It would hurt her gravely if he had indeed been killed.

"What is your name, child?" The Grandfather asked, turning back to the young lady.

"Anna," she replied.

"Anna," the giant mused. He turned to the elderly man. "And you?"

"Montaigne," he said. The old man's face was crestfallen, but he seemed to give the sense that he had lived through great hardship before. He was not new to the losses of war.

"I take it that you were among the first to flee the capital?" He asked.

"Yes," Anna said.

"Then you do not know if the city stands?" He said, rubbing at his stony jaw.

"No," Anna said. "But the walls may have been breached by now. We don't have enough power to hold them off forever."

The Grandfather sighed. He'd sent his best wizards to help defend the city. The Jotun were not a numerous people, and left behind in their village were only the old, the infirm, and those without magic at all. If they lost their wizards during the fighting, it would be an ill omen for the continuation of his people.

"I see," he said, humming Fear. It had slipped in unconsciously, and as soon as Bjoldhhe noticed, she mimicked his tune. He forced himself to stop, and hummed Confidence. He chided himself. Bjoldhhe was already worried, and he needn't make it worse.

"Well," he said, "all we can do now, then, is trust. Trust in your husband to make it to us, alive and well. Trust in our warriors in Arendelle to fend off the darkness. And trust in ourselves to have the strength to persevere if either of these should come to fail. Life will go on. It always does."

His words didn't seem to be any comfort to Anna. He'd never been any good at making humans feel better.

xxx

Kariena Tae plunged a knife into a large man's neck, ripping it through with enough force to nearly take it off. He collapsed to the ground, and his two remaining allies surged forwards. She ducked underneath a sword swing and disappeared in an arcane burst, appearing again in the air behind one of them. She twisted and kicked the side of his head forcefully, sending him into the other, where they both collapsed to the ground.

She landed in a lithe crouch and spun her remaining dagger around, ducking forwards and slashing both of their necks from behind. She retrieved both of her blades and stood, turning to see one of her own soldiers rush over. They were trying to hold a street nearby, but some of the enemy had begun to creep through this alleyway, trying to get around behind the Arendanes and catch them in a pincer. Kariena had put a stop to it.

"Mistress witch!" He cried out. His voice was distressed.

"The line has broken?" She guessed, trying to project confidence.

"No," he shook his head. "They've begun to retreat!"

Kariena frowned. "But that's bad news?"

"Not exactly," he said. "You're going to want to see this."

She pushed past him and rounded the corner, nearly slipping in a slick of blood on the street as she came back onto the main thoroughfare. They were on tenth street, a broad thoroughfare that ran through the city like a spoke in a great wheel, running all the way down to the docks. From here, they had a straight line of view to the crumbling city walls, and the mass of ships beyond them.

And beyond that, the ocean.

The horizon looked strange to her. It was too high, above even the tallest masts of the ships in the harbor. Suddenly, it hit her. _Oh my God._

A tsunami was rising on the edge of the horizon, and it was headed towards Arendelle.

xxx

Elsa rammed Rimeheart into the chest of her last adversary, sighing with relief as frost spiderwebbed across his body and signaled his death. She turned towards the family huddled on the other side of the small kitchen, peeking out at her from behind an overturned table. She tried to ignore the looks of horror on their faces.

 _It's not you that they're afraid of,_ she reminded herself.

"Please, try to make your way towards the north of the city," she said. "I know that it will be hard to abandon your home, but these parts of the city are no longer safe. We are beginning to establish defensive perimeters in some of the upper districts, and you will be safe there."

The ashen-faced father nodded his head, and started to usher his family towards the door. As they passed by her, he nodded his head.

"Thank you, your majesty. You saved our lives."

Elsa smiled weakly in return and followed them out through the front door. She'd heard their little girl screaming from the street, and she'd made it to them in time to save them. Elsa tried not to think too hard about all the families who she hadn't heard being slaughtered.

She cast a glance towards the other end of the street to make sure that they were alone and stopped cold. The horizon was rising. Suddenly, she remembered the vision.

 _You must not forget the forest when all you can see are the trees,_ a voice seemed to whisper to her.

"No," she said softly, looking out towards the giant wave rising to crush her city.

The family had stopped behind her, and now they turned to follow her gaze.

"Run," she said, turning to look at them. They didn't move.

"RUN!" She screamed, and they began to move, running away from the coastline towards the north of the city.

Elsa turned to follow them but stopped herself. She wasn't sure why – she certainly didn't have a plan – but she started to run _towards_ the harbor, slicking the ground beneath her with ice to speed up.

She was going to protect them. She was going to protect them all.

xxx

Odette heard the commotion from the other end of the chamber. She looked up and saw a group of those strong enough to stand gathered just outside the schoolhouse's doorway, pointing with dismay towards the ocean. She stood up, just having finished mending a young woman's broken spine, and walked towards the door. Her feet felt leaden, and she had to concentrate on her movement to keep going.

When she finally slouched over the threshold and looked towards the horizon, she felt all her exhaustion wash away in a heartbeat, replaced with horror. A blue swell consumed the sky. The black of night was gone, replaced by a wave taller than any building. Lit a deep blue by the fires of the burning city, the massive wave was less than a minute from the shore. Even here, Odette could see that it would be pointless to run. The entire city was going to be engulfed.

She barely heard the panicked cries of the people around her.

 _So this is it,_ she mused, her inner voice almost thoughtful despite her impending death. _This is how we all die. This is how the world ends._

xxx

Elsa stood on the crumbled fragments of the city wall, a powerful wind whipping at her clothing and hair, a heady mist drenching her bloodstained skin. The wall of water had risen so high that she couldn't see the sky anymore. It hit the outermost ships in the harbor, and they rose into the air, torn apart in heartbeats as they rode the side of the massive wave.

Three hundred feet away and closing. A few heartbeats.

She was alone. Everyone else near the walls had ran as soon as they saw the tsunami approaching, but they wouldn't be able to get far enough. Where could you run from a wave of this size?

The city cried in silence as the next line of ships was taken into its maw. Elsa stared into the heart of the sea and saw annihilation. She slowly extended her arms to either side.

 _In that vision, God said that I would sacrifice myself for humanity,_ Elsa mused to herself. _I wonder if this is what He had in mind._

She curled her fingers through the air and closed her eyes. Her face became serene. She could feel individual water droplets, coalescing on her skin. She could hear the roaring of the sea, come to reclaim what was hers. She could feel the magic in the air, running through everything, binding the universe together, making it whole.

Magic had been given to humanity by the immortals, it was told. Even the most powerful witches and wizards were untrained children compared to those who had come before them. The Lost Immortals could use magic in ways that no human thought possible.

They could perform miracles.

Elsa reached beyond the world and touched the magic.

She opened her eyes just as the tsunami hit the city's walls. The roaring in her ears reached a crescendo, and the sea swallowed her whole.

xxx

Kariena didn't close her eyes this time, when death came for her. The wave hit the city, tearing up the walls, and the harbor, and then the first buildings began to crumble and rise into the water. Some of the soldiers beside her dropped their weapons and started to run to the north, but there was nowhere to go. It would reach them, eventually.

 _We did an admirable job, I think. Maybe that's all that matters. That we didn't give up._

The wave began to slow. Or at least, that's what Kariena thought was happening, at first – then she realized that it was _curving_ ; the top was still moving, arcing over the city, but the base had started to stop. A rapid grey was beginning to spread throughout the wave, even as the crest continued to roar across the city. It passed far overhead, over the tops of the buildings, and Kariena realized what was happening.

"She's freezing the entire wave," she said with wonder.

The wave continued to pass by, the roar becoming strangely quiet as the tsunami became a dome of ice, stretching out over the city until finally it stopped about halfway across, like a giant windbreaker intentionally built on the windward side of the city.

A deep groaning sound thrummed in the air for a few seconds, and then all was silent.

xxx

Odette looked up as soft flakes of snow began to flutter down from the ice that loomed above half the city. As one drifted close, she reached out and caught it on her finger.

"She saved us," Odette whispered. "She saved us all."


	35. Chapter Thirty

Author's Note:

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for sticking with TLD for so long, faithful readers! We have come at last to the end of Words of the Protector (stick around for the interludes in this feed, however). I hope that you all enjoyed the ride.

Also, don't call it a comeback. ;) I know some of you were waiting for this for a long time.

Heroes never die.

xxx

Chapter Thirty

 _Cynical men have said to me that I preach faith as a substitute for action. That I poison the minds of the weak with fanciful visions of their problems spirited away by guardian angels. Now, on the eve of the world's end, as I prepare to allow a good man to die in an attempt to stem the tides of evil, I cannot help but agree with them._

 _The Bard Rhennalus,_

 _a personal journal, lost to time_

* * *

The Watcher's Realm,

the Edge of Heaven

October 6th, 1843

A lone hovel, humble and squat, with a thatched roof and a little pen for a flock of three sheep, now let loose to roam and munch the countryside, sat in the mountain foothills at the edge of paradise. Singular underneath blue skies and large, lazy clouds, the little abode was a place of solace, not loneliness. A place where one could become wise, if given enough time to think and enough food for thought. It was a place that should not be.

The Watcher's realm was uninhabited by design, a place where the angel could shepherd souls into heaven, if they were deserving, yet still keep a stoic eye on the events of the world and the Sea of Stars. Home only to the Watcher herself, until recently.

She touched down on the little, cobbled path up to the home, feathers rustling as she folded her wings behind herself. She frowned as she walked the path, wondering how this little hovel came to be. She personally oversaw all who passed into her realm, and she accounted for them all. Her mind was able to remember all those that she had allowed to pass, and all those that she had rejected. But she did not remember this.

She glanced to the east, where the hills sloped gently down into the basin, where the wildflowers grew. The farmer's three sheep were afield, and she could see them, wandering about and bleating at each other occasionally as they perused for juicy stalks of grass. The Watcher's frown did not fade as she stepped up to the entrance to the house. To the side of the door was a little wooden rocking chair that could look into a small, tended garden. It looked oft-used.

She turned and knocked three times on the door.

Several long moments passed. The door did not open. Not only that, she could not hear movement from inside. Frowning still, she turned and stepped over to the small, circular window looking into the house and peered inside.

"Ah. I figured that you'd come looking eventually," a voice said.

The Watcher started and turned with surprise to see Hans Westergaard step around the side of the little house, holding a book under one arm and an empty wine glass in the other. He wore a loose shirt that opened only along three buttons near the collar, tucked into a pair of lived-in looking trousers. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing a set of bronzed and scarred forearms, and he was barefoot.

"Hans," she said, voice tinged with wonder. In late July, when she'd been visited by Odette, she'd said that she hadn't taken his soul to the afterlife yet. The Watcher hadn't known where he'd been. Somehow, it seemed that he had been here, all along.

"Yes," he said nonchalantly, opening the unlocked front door and waving her inside. His hair and beard had been trimmed, but they had grown longer, contributing to the rugged look of a farmer that he now had.

The Watcher stepped over the house's threshold, looking around. There were only two rooms; this one, set with the hearth and the little round dining table, also had a more comfortable chair set next to a bookcase with a great many titles, all leatherbound and embossed with gold coverings. The other room was an austere bedroom, from what the Watcher could see of it from the doorway. She walked into the living room and turned about once.

 _Where did this all come from?_ She thought. Then she turned back to Hans, and noticed for the first time the title of the book he was holding.

" _The Histories,_ by Rhennalus," the Watcher said, surprised. "I wasn't aware that any copies of that text still existed."

"I would imagine that they do not," Hans said, setting the book back onto the shelf with the others. "All of these books seem quite old and unknown to the modern world."

The Watcher's frown returned. "Then how are they here? How are you here? Why did it take so long for me to find you?"  
Hans walked over to the hearth. Beside it was a little washbasin for dirty dishes, and it was there that he began to clean his empty glass.

Back still turned, he said to her, "Please, take a seat, by the way. The comfortable one. Make yourself at home."

He set the now-clean glass with the others and turned back to her, now sitting in the upholstered chair by the bookcase. The angel adjusted her skirts.

"As for those questions of yours," he said, walking over and leaning against the edge of his table, "do you want the honest answer?"

"Of course," she replied.

"I have no idea." He grinned at her.

The Watcher raised an eyebrow.

"But I can make an educated guess," he admitted. "I haven't been able to use magic since I got here. I had bound the souls of two wizards to myself with a tensing disk, and I'm guessing that I lost my souls rather than my life in New York City."

The Watcher seemed discomfited by this. "I'm not an expert on dark magic, Hans, but that's not how tensing is supposed to work," she said. "Some, like the sea witch Ursula, have managed to use souls to extend their own lives, but the same should not have worked for you. Tensing disks were designed to confer powers, but not longevity. After all, Everdark wanted to ensure that even its most powerful servants remained mortal, should they go rogue and need to be exterminated."

"How is the disk inside of me any different from what Ursula does?" Hans asked, frowning.

"She does not absorb the souls directly," the Watcher said. "She keeps them in an enchanted locket around her neck – whenever she would die, the magics take effect, and one of her souls is lost instead."

The Watcher shifted her weight, rustling her wings slightly.

"Now again, I'm no expert on this sort of thing, but here's the way that I think about it. Imagine that Ursula's locket is a shield of souls, around herself. If she would get mortally wounded, the shield takes the blow instead."

"Okay," Hans said.

"You've taken the souls into your body," the angel said. "So you don't have a shield. Wizards with tensing disks die just like normal men. All their souls go with them."

Hans rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "Well, who's to say that I'm not dead?"

The Watcher shook her head. "I may not be able to say what you _are,_ but I know that you are not dead, Hans. I can see all who pass through my realm. I am the Watcher, after all."

Hans nodded, and allowed the topic to change. "By the way, I have a question about that. In this book," he said, holding up his copy of _The Histories,_ "The author, a man named Rhennalus, calls himself 'the Watcher' as well. Is that an exceeding coincidence?"

The angel shook her head again. "No. The man you speak of, Rhennalus, was a member of the Consulate of Celestus. Their civilization was more knowledgeable of the history of magic than any that exist today – perhaps even more knowledgeable than some of the remaining immortals. They idealized all of the Lost Immortals, but five specifically, including myself. They used the same titles as these immortals to reinforce the connection."

Hans glanced back down at the spine of the book. He had not built this house for himself; the building and all of its contents, including these old books, had simply been waiting for him when he'd arrived. Why?

 _The Histories_ had also included a lengthy discussion of special wizards, called archmagi. Rhennalus had seemed to indicate that he was one of them.

"So the members of the Consulate were also archmagi?" Hans asked.

"Not exactly," the angel said. "The Protector was, but there isn't an exact overlap. The archmagi are endowed with certain powers beyond that which normal wizards are capable of. The members of the Celestian Consulate simply possessed particular qualities that their civilization chose to exalt.

"However, the Consulate did believe that they were all archmagi, even though most of them were not. That book does a good job of capturing Rhennalus's uncertainty on the topic, I think." The Watcher frowned to herself. "History is often messy like this."

"I see," Hans said. "Are they… I mean, how important are they? These special wizards? Rhennalus seemed to believe that only they had the power to defeat Everdark."

The Watcher shrugged. "They are, at the end of the day, humans like you, Hans. I think that anyone with the will to change the world can do it."

 _The will to change the world…_

"So what next?" Hans asked.

The Watcher did not have to ask what he meant. "That's an excellent question, Hans. I have always known you to be a fighter. You are not one who gives up easily, and so I would have expected you to already have leapt back into the fight. Yet here I find you, months after you arrived in my realm, settled down into the life of a farmer. What has changed?"

"I don't know how to get back," Hans admitted. "For weeks, I tried wandering in search of a gate. But then I realized that's probably not how this is going to work, is it?"

The Watcher shrugged again. "I don't have the answers, Hans," she said. "This has never happened before. Perhaps you weren't ready to return, or perhaps you aren't meant to at all. Would that bother you? Being unable to go back?"  
Before, Hans would have immediately said yes. Yes, he wanted to get back into the fighting and do what needed to be done. But now, he finally found something that he'd been looking for. Peace. Serenity. Wisdom, perhaps, in time. It should have bothered him to leave Elsa, and Hades, and Kariena behind, but for some reason, it didn't. For some reason, he was content enough to not care.

 _That's a bad thing,_ some part of him said. _You're giving up. You're growing weak._

"I'm not sure, anymore," he admitted.

The Watcher was silent for a few moments. "You remember the first time you visited me, now?"

"Yes," Hans replied. "I recognized where I was as soon as I arrived here."

Years ago, before the return of Everdark, before Mallory had died, Hans had been gravely injured fighting army deserters in the north of France. He'd passed to the Watcher's realm, where she'd told him that it wasn't time to die yet. In addition, she'd taken painful memories from him. In exchange, she'd said that she would make him a coward until he'd proven himself again. It wasn't that she'd wanted to exact a price from him, but that was the way the Watcher's magic had always worked. She could give, as long as she also took away.

"I always imagined that I lost my cowardice that night in London, when I first fought the Cult of Entropy," Hans said. "But maybe I still hold on to it. Maybe it's coming back, now."

The Watcher frowned. "I don't think that's it," she said, "now that I'm really considering it. A coward would fear returning. You do not?"

"No," Hans said. "I feel… apathy. Like I can't bring myself to care that I abandoned them all."

The Watcher stood up. Her wings ruffled slightly as she said, "Well, then, Hans, I suppose that I'll leave you to your thoughts. You have a very important decision to make."

Hans was surprised. Had he offended her? "You're bothered," he said, walking with her to the door. "You think that I should choose to return."

The Watcher stepped over the threshold and turned back to face him, smiling in an ethereal sort of way. "You mistake me, Hans. I am not aligned to either side of this conflict. I would certainly not be so improper as to pick favorites.

"On the contrary," she continued, "I simply understand that the decision to return to a world of pain and hardship will be a difficult one, one that should not be made lightly. You must make it yourself. Look inside and find the answer."

She turned without another word and, with a powerful flap of her wings that buffeted at Hans's clothes and sent the door swinging, she took off, quickly fading to a pinprick in the sky. Hans watched her go with one hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun. One of his sheep had wandered its way back up the path, and now it stopped beside him and bleated. He glanced down and scratched at it behind the ears.

 _Why do I feel peace while the world crumbles? Why am I content to sit here and tend a garden while people fight and die for the same things that I once did?_

Finally thinking about it like this, he knew the answer.

When he first entered Hades's service what felt like so long ago now, he'd wanted… this. He'd hoped that one day, after his debt to the master of the underworld was paid, he would be rewarded with peace and solitude. Release from the pain of his past, freedom from the judgment of those who did not understand him. It had felt like such a faraway goal back then, and before long it had been pushed out of his mind by a legitimate desire to do what was right. Now, all these months later, he'd all but forgotten the plan he'd originally had in mind.

Is this still what he wanted?

 _No,_ he knew. _No, it's not._

What _did_ he want?

At various points in his life, Hans had wanted peace, acceptance, love, and revenge. There were many men in his past, and he had been them all. He had always been working to be a better man, to walk a better path. If any one constant bound these men together and made them Hans Westergaard, it was that they were all determined to do better. To _be_ better.

Now it was time to be that man again.

Hans smiled. It was time to get back to work. Not as a warrior, fighting for a master. But as an avenger, to bring honor to the names of those he had lost and those he still hoped to save.

Suddenly he became aware of something within himself. An inner glow, something that had always been there, though it was just now igniting. He spoke the Words naturally, like the words to a familiar song.

"I am the Avenger. The shadow cast by the light, the knife that strikes in the darkness. I will bring justice for the loved and the lost, and I will not rest until my work is done."

He felt cold for a moment, and then there was a rush of something warm. A new flame, awakened.

He closed his eyes, and felt paradise fade away, replaced with screams of death and the fires of war. The Avenger had returned.

xxx

Elsa _was_ pain. She felt as if her entire body was being crushed by some omnipotent force. She'd stolen magic. She wasn't even sure how she'd managed to do it, but she'd used the magic in the air the stone rather than her own, and it seemed that the universe was repaying her theft in kind. She wondered if she was still alive.

Maybe Elsa had died trying to draw the power into herself, and maybe this was Hell. She couldn't see, or smell, or hear anything beyond a muted hum. She was nothing but sensation, floating somewhere beyond reality.

For some indeterminable length of time, she knew nothing but this. Then, almost as if the noise had always been like this, she began to hear her own name.

 _Elsa._

…

 _Elsa._

Elsa gasped awake, head throbbing. She turned over and coughed, forcing herself to her hands and knees. She'd been lying in the muck just behind the crumbling walls around her city. Her arms wobbled perilously, threatening to drop her back into the mud. Her head felt like it had been pounded with a hammer, and her vision swam. The voice came again.

"Elsa."

She continued to stare down at her hands, brain slowly processing her own name, rolling the voice over and over again. It was a familiar voice, but not one she expected to hear again.

"Hans," she gasped, turning and gazing up at him, standing tall above her. He extended a hand and grinned.

"Something tells me that I have you to thank for this giant dome of ice hanging over half the city," he said.

Elsa slowly, uncertainly took his hand, almost as if her hand would pass right through him. It didn't.

He pulled her to her feet, and she pulled him into a hug.

"How?" She whispered.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Something to do with the souls that I'd taken. Whatever it was, I'm glad to be back. It looks like we're just getting started here."

Elsa suddenly felt a horrible wave of guilt. Part of her wanted to wait, to tell him after all the fighting in Arendelle was done, but she forced herself to speak.

"Hans, wait."

He'd already begun to turn back to Arendelle, where the fires were still spreading, and citizens were still being slaughtered. He glanced back at her.

"I killed Hades. And his servants. All of them."

For several seconds, he stared at her, face blank. So she continued.

"When I saw you die, back there in New York, for a second, I let everything down. I couldn't think. I… I didn't protect myself. I got dominated, and I was under its control for a long time. It was one of the first things that it made me do."

"They're… dead?" He asked, voice hollow.

Elsa nodded, unable to form any more words past the lump in her throat.

"What about the others?" Hans demanded, voice suddenly frantic. "Is Kariena safe?"

"Nobody else," Elsa said. "Not yet. I haven't seen most of them in a few hours, though."

Hans worked his jaw for a moment, almost as if he were speaking silent words over his fallen friends. For a moment, he looked down to his feet, and then he raised his head again and blinked twice, forcing away tears. He would have time to mourn later.

"Well, then let's go make sure we don't lose anyone else."

Elsa turned and followed him back into the fire and brimstone.

xxx

The bright rays of a midmorning sun were just beginning to break through the clouds still hanging heavily over Arendelle when the fighting finally stopped. Many of the fires still burned, though by now they had burned themselves through their most fearsome stages, and now were mostly just great columns of smoke rising to the heavens.

Odette stood atop a little building near the north of the city, looking out towards the horizon, now largely obscured by the great mass that was the frozen tsunami, still looming like a specter over half the city. The last she'd heard, a few groups of soldiers were still doing rounds in the streets downtown, evacuating anyone who was still inside to the northernmost octant of the city. Even Elsa didn't know what was going to happen with the great dome of ice. If it started to melt, pieces as large as a soccer pitch could start falling onto the buildings below like super-massive hailstones. Nobody wanted to be around when that happened.

She still couldn't believe that they'd made it. She also couldn't believe that this was Everdark's first jab, the first strike meant to test humanity's mortal defenses. It had come within an inch of crushing them. The next few years were going to be very difficult to make it through.

Of course, they would be doing it with one more wizard on their side. Just past four in the morning, Odette had seen Hans for the first time, miraculously returned in their hour of need to save them. Odette still didn't know what to make of it. People didn't cheat death like that. After all, with what the Watcher had told her…

 _Death is immutable, little one._

Apparently, heroes never die.

In any case, Kariena was certainly happy to see him. Odette smiled to herself. She always imagined Hans as stony and emotionless to herself, so it was sort of nice to see someone with the ability to make him feel. She'd left them in a powerful embrace below.

"Anna is alive, and so is Montaigne," Elsa's voice came from behind. "They're with the Jotun."

Odette turned to see the beleaguered queen step climb through the trapdoor and walk over, heavily favoring one leg. The other was heavily bandaged from a bullet wound earlier in the night, and Elsa also bore a dozen other more minor wounds. It hurt Odette to see them, but she didn't have the strength to heal right now. Once she did, she promised herself, Elsa would be the first.

"That's good to hear," Odette said, releasing a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She wrapped an arm around Elsa and laid her head into the queen's shoulder. "Does she know yet?"

Kristoff's death had been one of the first things that Elsa's scouts had reported back on when she'd sent them down the path to Anders. They'd found a slaughter only a few hours from Arendelle, by carriage. Pregnant women and babies, rounded up and shot like animals. It made Odette sick to think about, and only served to remind them that their enemy had no reservations, and no mercy.

From the accounts, he'd had a noble death.

"I don't think so," Elsa said, reaching up to wipe at her burning eyes. "But I'm scared for when she does. She… she loved him. I don't know how she'll go on."

Odette nodded, all too familiar with the feeling of losing the one that she loved the most. First her mother, to her father's anger. Then, Elsa, to Everdark's domination.

"Anna's a fighter," she said softly. "It will be hard for her. But she'll make it. Somehow, she will.

For several minutes, they lapsed into silence, holding each other and staring out into the ruined city.

"Hans told me that something ignited inside of him," Elsa said eventually. "He thinks that he's an archmage now, too. An Avenger."

"I…" Odette started, then stopped again. How to explain this? "After Hans died, I had a vision. Like I was swept up and taken somewhere not on this world. An angel lives there, called the Watcher. I know this sounds crazy, but –"

"Hans said something about this place too," Elsa said. "So no, I don't think that it's crazy at all."

"She called me a Mender," Odette said, voice small. "For a long time, I just thought that she was using another colloquialism for a healer, but then something started to change. I… I think I'm one, too."

Elsa glanced down at the brunette. "Is it the same for you, too, then? Hans said that he swore an oath, like I did."

Odette shook her head. "No, it's different. I can't really explain how, but it's different. It… you have to form bonds. I don't think that does it justice."

Elsa glanced down at Odette. Some time, she'd need to probe further, try to learn more about what made them all the same, and what set them apart. But now wasn't the time.

"The Protector. The Avenger. The Mender," Elsa mused.

"We sound like pieces in someone else's game," Odette whispered.

"Everdark said something like that, in Corona," Elsa remembered. It felt like a lifetime ago. "When it was speaking to us through King Frederick, it said that we were just pieces in a game. But it's not like that. The last time, Ashanerat was the only archmage. She had to try to stop Everdark by herself. But we won't have to do it alone. We have each other."

They were quiet again.

Finally, Odette said something that had been on her mind for quite some time. "Elsa, I want you to marry me."

Elsa's eyes widened, and she turned to fully face Odette. "Are you proposing to me?"

Odette characteristically flushed red. "I mean, not really. I don't have a ring, and, well – it's just that after everything that's happened, I thought – "

"You're right," Elsa said, smile widening.

Fluidly, she lowered herself down onto her good leg's knee and took Odette's hand, a pristine and beautiful ring of ice materializing in her fingers.

"Odette Marie Novare, will you marry me?"

Odette nodded, biting her lip and letting the tears run.

For a moment, they were happy.

The End of Arc Six

of Trials of Light and Darkness


	36. Interlude - Anna & Gold

Author's Note:

Many apologies for missing last week, but hopefully this will make up for it! The last upload for Words of the Protector will be _tomorrow_ (7/24/18), so be sure to check back in for the conclusion that will catch us back up!

xxx

Interlude – Anna and Gold

 _Mother had an old standing clock, that she'd inherited from her mother, who'd gotten it from hers, back many generations. She loved it, and whenever it started to wind down, she'd send out for a horologist to put all the little pieces back together. I think we lost it in the sacking of the palace._

 _Why am I telling you this? I don't know, honestly. Sometimes I just remember things like this, for no reason at all, really._

 _Anna Siguror_

* * *

Beijing,

China

October 6th, 1843

Mr. Gold had felt a sudden, overwhelming loss, when Hades had died. He'd been in Beijing for some time already, working to keep the local politics from falling to the Cult of Entropy. At the time, he'd been devastated. Unsure whether there was any point to going on. After all, the Underworld had already been lost. Surely, they would overcome eventually. It was only a matter of time.

Now, two and a half months later, the old man stood on a balcony on the third floor of the magnificent Qing palace, watching the ancient city burn before his eyes. He adjusted his weight, wincing as his gimp leg protested. These were dark times. Unfortunate times. The fighting in the courtyard below was growing quiet. A more optimistic man would hope that the palace guard had succeeded in turning back the attackers.

Mr. Gold smiled grimly. He'd always been a pessimist.

He turned around just as the door to his quarters burst open. He steadied himself with one hand against the balcony railing and raised his cane, barking a vicious curse. A dark and violent form erupted from his cane, swirling through the chamber and engulfing the first few unfortunate souls to come through the doorway. Mr. Gold ignored their pitiful screams and hobbled back into the chamber, continuing to cast spells across the room.

A brilliant barrier erupted in the doorway, intercepting his next curse. Mr. Gold growled as a tall, robed man wearing a vulture mask stepped over the threshold. He lowered his arms and the shield evaporated. Behind him a half-dozen more men entered the chamber, each of them with magic at their fingertips.

"The master knows this one," the leader of the wizards said in Mandarin. "And does not require that he live. Kill him."

Mr. Gold raised his cane again and tried to defend himself, but the spells came from all sides. For five, then ten seconds he stood against them all, and then a lash of fire took his shoulder. He stumbled on his bad leg and collapsed to the ground. Groaning, he twisted to his side just in time to see a brilliant light streak across the room towards him.

He was dead before he had time to fear.

xxx

Three days later in Arendelle, Elsa found her sister in the ruins of the Saint Adelaide Cathedral. Under the iceblade, the giant church's charred remains had been cast into darkness. A light snowfall dusted the tops of the buildings underneath the iceblade, an uncomfortable reminder that the giant formation was starting to melt. Some smart people had told Elsa that it would probably be weeks before it started to collapse, but Elsa still didn't want to risk any of her populace in the shadowed part of the city.

Anna knelt in a little apse off of the main atrium, before an unblemished golden statue of Christ. The fact that the city's assailants hadn't bothered snatching it even as they set fire to the rest of the building served as a reminder that their enemy was anything but human.

Elsa felt an overwhelming, sorrowful empathy as she approached Anna. The girl's head was bowed, her shoulders sloped with defeat.

"Anna," Elsa said softly, stepping into the little nave and kneeling beside her sister, placing a hand on Anna's back.

The redhead kept her head bowed, body slowly shivering.

Elsa gazed sadly at her. She felt hopeless. She knew that there wasn't anything she could say to help Anna, yet while she did nothing her sister would keep spiraling deeper into despair.

"I know that I've told you this before, Anna," Elsa said softly, "but I still haven't said it enough. Those years, after our parents died, when I was still… when I was still shut up in my room, _you_ were what got me through each day."

Anna turned and slid into Elsa's arms, still not meeting her sister's gaze. Elsa was startled by how slight, how small her little sister seemed. Barely more than a child.

"You were strong for me, when I needed it," Elsa whispered. "I'll do the same for you, Anna. I promise it."

Elsa stroked her sister's hair, feeling tears sting at her eyes as she thought about all the things Anna would never get to experience because of her.

"I have taken everything from you," she said mournfully. "You keep getting swept up in things that you were never meant to be a part of because of me. You keep end up being the collateral damage. I'm sorry, Anna. I'm so, so sorry."

For the first time, Anna replied, her voice shaky and pained.

"This isn't your fault, Elsa. You're trying to carry the entire world on your shoulders. Not every person who slips away is your fault."

Elsa bit her lip. Anna didn't need her pity, nor her apologies. She didn't tell her that Kristoff had done something truly heroic. Platitudes weren't going to bring him back. Elsa tried to remember what had finally let her move on, when Agnarr and Iduna had died. In hindsight, it didn't seem like there was ever one defining moment when she'd snapped out of her grief. Wounds like these took time to heal.

"I'll be here for you," Elsa eventually said, wishing she could find the words to say something better. "I won't leave you. I never will."

Anna didn't reply. She didn't need to.

xxx

Anna wanted to feel better. Before, some part of her deep down always believed that emotions were a choice. If you were sad, you could feel better if you made an effort to think positively, to act positively, to surround yourself with friends and family. Now she wasn't sure. She didn't push Elsa away, but her sister couldn't make her feel better.

It felt petty. It felt pathetic. There wasn't a person in Arendelle who hadn't lost someone loved during the fighting. In fact, compared to those who had family in Anders, she'd fared comparatively well. Everdark's forces had slaughtered them all in Arendelle's portside magnet village, and then burned the town to the ground. Most of the remains were unidentifiable. At least they'd been able to recover Kristoff's body.

Still, she wondered each morning if she would have the strength to go on. When she thought she'd lost Elsa a month and a half ago, she'd at least been sustained by the hope that she was still alive. With Kristoff, she didn't have the benefit of such an illusion. He was gone. At the moment, she didn't really care if she was being weak.

"Are you up yet, princess?" Gerda's voice came after a soft knock on Anna's bedroom door. The matronly servant didn't wait for an answer, however, and opened the door, bustling in with a hamper of dresses underneath her arm. She smiled kindly at Anna, who still lay in bed in her darkened chamber, and walked over to the window.

Gerda opened the curtains, letting in a warm midmorning sun. Anna rolled away from it, the intensity of the light hurting her eyes.

"Don't you think that's better?" Gerda said kindly, before opening Anna's closet and beginning to hang the washed dresses there, neatly smoothing out their pleats as she went.

Anna sat up, rubbing at her eyes. She felt hollow. "Not really," she said honestly.

Gerda glanced over and smiled sadly. "So much hardship, in the life of such a young woman," she said. "It's okay if you need more time, child. But I want you to know that we'll be ready to help you as soon as you're ready."

Anna knew that the woman's words were meant to be kind, but they irritated her nonetheless. Did she think that Anna was deliberately denying help? Did she assume that she had miraculous answers to Anna's problems?

She forced herself to smile. "Thank you, Gerda. I think a bit more time would be helpful."

Gerda smiled again and finished up her work, humming a soft, traditional Arendane song to herself.

On the way back out of the room, she said, "There is one part of yourself that I will not allow you to neglect, princess. You simply _must_ find the strength to eat. If not for yourself, then think of the baby."

Anna's gut wrenched. Her child. Her last earthly connection to Kristoff. Yes. Yes, for her child, she would eat.

"Thank you, Gerda," she whispered.

The door clicked as the servant walked away.

Anna sat in silence for perhaps five minutes, staring down at her hands, clasped in her lap. Then she stood and opened her closet.

xxx

Elsa glanced up from her conversation with Hans as Anna entered the dining hall of Sadden's manor. Situated in the northeastern side of the city, the late Lord Insurgent's manor had managed to escape the bulk of the fighting – it remained remarkably intact. Elsa found it strangely ironic that no matter the hardships Arendelle weathered, Namar Sadden's ancestral home emerged unscathed.

Elsa barely had time to be surprised by the sight of her sister before Anna shouted.

"You!" Her voice threw a sudden hush upon the chamber. A servant who had been entering through a side chamber with food for the newly arrived princess stopped midstride, shocked.

"How _dare_ you?" Anna said, storming across the chamber, her face a mask of anger, her voice dripping with cold fury as she jabbed a finger at Hans, who, to his credit, had the presence of mind to look aggrieved. "How dare you cheat death, how dare you refuse to stay dead when far better men than you only get one chance?"

Elsa glanced between the two, horrified.

"I'm sorry, Anna," he said, sounding like he meant it.

"You're _sorry_?" Anna said. "Of course you're not sorry! Because you've somehow managed to play the odds and convince everyone that _your_ life is more valuable than anyone else's! But I see the truth, Hans Westergaard. You may have fooled my friends, and even my sister, but I _know who you are._ And you are a bad man, Hans Westergaard. You're a liar and a murderer and a villain."

Anna was crying now, silent tears streaking her face as she laid into Hans. His face was ashen as he listened to her words, and Elsa realized with shock that he thought she was right.

"I hate you," she said, a sob choking in her throat. "I hate you and everything that you represent. I hate that every time you come back into my life, everything falls apart. I hate –"

Her voice broke, and she couldn't finish. Without a word, Hans gathered some notes that he and Elsa had taken and walked from the room. Elsa watched him go, speechless. For a moment, she realized that she didn't know what to do. She should go after Hans, and apologize for Anna's outburst. He didn't deserve to be the outlet for her anger. But at the same time, she couldn't abandon Anna and leave her feeling even worse.

 _God, this is a nightmare._

After a few more moments of indecision, she found herself staying. Hans was a strong man. He would survive. She slumped into the seat beside Anna and placed a hand over her sister's. There would be time later to discuss with Hans plans for keeping Arendelle safe.

"You're up," Elsa said, forcing enthusiasm into her voice and hoping that it would help dissolve the tension in the room.

"Yes," Anna replied, accepting the servant's dish and taking a bite of scrambled eggs. Then she was silent for a few moments, seeming to come to a decision. "Yes, and I'm going to stay up."

"That's great!" Elsa said.

"I thought about what you said to me the other day, Elsa," Anna said. "In the church. You said that this wasn't my fight."

Anna's fiery outburst seemed to have burned away all her melancholy, replacing it with righteous fury. Elsa had never seen her sister like this before.

"And you were right," Anna continued. "It _wasn't_ my fight. But you know what? It is now. I might once have had the option to sit on the sidelines, but I don't anymore. I want to be a part of this."

She gazed into Elsa's eyes with a ferocious intensity, and for a moment, Elsa didn't know what to say. Anna wasn't a fighter, and even training her to shoot or swing a sword wouldn't make her a match for the enemies that they fought. Besides, the thought of letting Anna risk herself fighting made her stomach curl. And then, suddenly, it hit her.

"Perfect," Elsa said. "I'm going to call an assembly of the important people that we have left in a few hours. And you need to be there."


	37. Interlude - The Heroes

Interlude – The Heroes

 _For the first time since this fight began, we have a plan. And I don't mean a plan to make it to tomorrow, to keep fighting one more day. I mean a plan to win. To endure. To survive._

 _Elsa's diary_

* * *

Sadden's manor,

Arendelle

October 11th, 1843

Elsa sat on the table that they would be meeting at shortly, turned to look at Hans, who sat in one of the chairs. She glanced over at the clock set into the wall. Ten minutes. The others would start trickling in soon.

"Anyway," Hans continued, "do you think it could really work?"

"Yes," Elsa said idly, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "I refuse to believe that our ancestors were so barbaric that wargates could only be activated with a wizard's sacrifice. We may have forgotten the way, but it's nothing that we can't re-learn."

Hans rubbed at his chin. It was a habit, Elsa noticed, that he'd picked up ever since he'd grown a full beard. "Well, in the grand scheme of how difficult the things that we're trying to accomplish are, I suppose that this is probably on the easier end. I'm not sure that's saying much."

They lapsed into silence for a moment, Elsa still twirling her hair. She realized what she was doing and stopped herself, then quickly wove her hair into a French braid and let it rest over her left shoulder.

"She's hurting," Elsa said abruptly. "I mean, obviously you knew that. But…"

"But nothing," Hans continued, smiling grimly. "She's right. Kristoff was a good man. He didn't deserve to die. And if either of us deserved a second chance, it definitely wasn't me. I mean, I guess this is my third chance. Maybe the fair thing to do would have been to give us each two."

Elsa sighed. "But you know that it doesn't work that way, and so does Anna. It's… more complicated than that."

"Yes, but her feelings are valid," Hans said, leaning forwards and clasping his hands together on the table. "I'm lucky that you ever forgave me. Most people would be more like your sister."

Why had she forgiven Hans? How had a man who once tried to kill her so quickly became a man she considered an indispensable friend? The answer, of course, was that relationships are complicated. It didn't seem so strange to Elsa, who'd still loved her parents enough to be devastated by their loss, even as they condemned her to solitary confinement. Who'd loved her sister, yet still tried to push her away, when that confinement ended. Love and hate could coexist. Sometimes, they were opposite sides of the same coin.

"Well, regardless, I'm sorry for what she said to you. I'm very glad that you're back, Hans."

He smiled. "Thank you, Elsa. I'm glad to be back. And don't begrudge Anna her feelings. Her passion is an asset to us in these dark times. She reminds us what's worth fighting for."

His face became more somber. "And… And losing Kristoff is a great blow. I mean it sincerely when I say that he was a good man. He was many things that I could only hope to ever be."

Elsa's reply was cut short as the door opened, and Charles Vander hobbled in, face a masked scowl. The elderly man had broken a leg during the attack on the city, and though Odette had done her best to heal it, his age had made it difficult. He would likely suffer a limp the rest of his life. Elsa smiled and slid off of the table, walking over to help him to his seat. Her smile broadened as Odette and Kariena entered behind him, and then Anna after that.

Anna sat herself as far as she could from Hans, though Elsa could read embarrassment in her face. She was ashamed of her earlier outburst, but she was a prideful girl sometimes. An apology would feel wrong, especially because many of the things that she'd said were at least partially true. Elsa walked to the head of the room and thought over her remarks another time as they waited for the last arrival to show.

Arno Belgold Montaigne was the last through the door, and he nodded apologetically to them. "Please excuse my tardiness, friends. I was just listening to young Captain Domrez voice his concerns about the melting of the iceblade."

Elsa frowned. "Something to worry about? If things grow urgent, I could probably find a way to strengthen pieces that are about to fall."

The giant, half-hemisphere of ice that still covered about half of the city on the southwestern side was melting faster than they'd expected due to a few unseasonably hot days in a row, threatening to crush abandoned buildings under massive, falling chunks of ice.

"Nothing urgent yet, miss," Montaigne said, finding a seat. "Captain Domrez merely wished to inform me that some of his men are drawing up a topological chart of its weaknesses."

Elsa nodded. "Very well, then. Are we ready to begin?" She glanced around the chamber. Almost immediately, Kariena spoke.

"Um, I'm sorry if this is a silly question, but… when we were preparing for the attack on the city, we had a bunch of mission-control meetings like this, but at all of those, we had a bunch more administrative and military people. Is there a reason that they're all missing?"

Elsa nodded. "The unfortunate truth is that many of them were killed. But that isn't the only thing. We'll get to that. Anything else?"

Hans crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. Nobody else spoke.

"Very well," Elsa said. "I've brought you all here because you are my closest friends and advisors, and the people that I trust the most. I'm about to make a radical proposal, and I need you all on board. But I'm also open to change, and to iteration. We're all in this together, and I want your input. Okay?"

One by one, they nodded.

"Okay," Elsa said, and then took a deep breath. "During the time that I was dominated by Everdark, I was made to serve his campaign in the Sea of Stars. It's not a direct analogue, but that's sort of the closest thing out there to what most people think of as heaven."

She inadvertently smiled at how ridiculous her words would seem to her own ears even just a year ago.

"In the Sea of Stars, Everdark used a series of powerful, magical portals to transport his forces large distances. They were called wargates. To activate a wargate required the soul of a wizard sacrifice, but I'm not convinced that it's the only way. If I had to guess, I would assume that ancients once knew other methods, and that they've just been lost.

"If we're serious about being able to save the world, then we can't afford to be at such a disadvantage, fighting an enemy whose forces can redeploy anywhere in the blink of an eye. We need access to these portals, too."

"What, so you plan to try to capture some?" Charles Vander said.

Elsa smiled. "No, I think that we should start trying to _make_ them."

"But you just said that we don't know how," the elderly man said, frowning.

"Which is perfect," Elsa said with a smirk, "because it gives us a nice stretch goal."

Several of the room's faces stared back at her incredulously. Hans smirked.

"We're going to start looking for a way," Elsa said. "Odette, this will be your primary directive. Do whatever research you can, and find us a way."

Odette paled slightly, but nodded.

"By the end of this year, I want us to have functioning wargates to every major city that still stands against Everdark. They will be necessary if we hope to stand a chance against its overwhelming advantage of numbers.

"But we will need more to unite the world than just portals and a common enemy." Elsa said, growing more confident and excited now. "If the world is going to stand together against Everdark, we need to _join_ together. There can be no question about authority, no dispute over our objectives. The world must unite under a common rule. Under one rule."

"You're talking about some sort of, what, an empire?" Asked Vander.

"An empire," Elsa said. "One person to rule us all. Someone who has the heart to lead us, and the vision to guide us. Someone who knows how to keep sight of what needs to be done, and someone who knows how to do what is right."

Around the room, everyone's eyes were on Elsa. She inadvertently smiled, because she wasn't about to proclaim herself empress.

"Most importantly, I think, our leader should not be a witch or a wizard," Elsa said. "Everdark can access the mind of anyone with access to magic, so we would be a fool to risk compromising the leader of the world to darkness. That is why I think that our empress should be you, Anna."

She turned to look at her shocked sister. She hadn't told Anna what she was going to suggest beforehand, of course; she'd known that Anna would have dismissed the idea out of hand. She wanted Anna to hear the opinions of the others.

"Me?" Anna said, voice sounding small.

"I think it's the only obvious choice. Our heritage will lend you legitimacy, and your lack of magic will ensure that your orders are trusted," Elsa said, and then turned to look at the others. "What say you all?"

Hans glanced around with interest, waiting for the others to speak first.

"I think that it's a logical choice," Odette said. "While you were in the Sea of Stars, Anna did an admirable job leading Arendelle."

"Yes, but I had Charles to help with the administration," Anna interjected. "I'm sorry, but I can't –"

"Well, that's the thing about being empress, right?" Kariena cut in. "You can just find someone to do all the mundane stuff for you. You'd be focused on leading and inspiring us."

"But I'm just… I'm just ordinary." Anna said. "Why not have you do it, Elsa?"

"You are anything but ordinary, dear sister," Elsa said. "And as for your suggestion, I couldn't possibly lead us. The empire will need me on the front lines, fighting. I won't have time to hold the fabric of the world's nations together. Besides, when we were young, Agnarr gave you all the same lessons as me. You know more about statecraft than many kings and queens."

"I concur," Charles Vander said, nodding his head. "I think that the princess would make an admirable choice. She will have time to learn administration, but what people need now is someone with the charisma to lead." He turned to look at her. "And you have that, princess."

"You sound like you've all been planning this," Anna said, surprised.

"This is the first time that any of them have heard it," Elsa said. No need to risk offending Anna by mentioning that Hans had been a part of the deliberation as well. "But they can spot a good idea."

Anna looked around the room, and each person nodded when she met their eyes. Finally, she looked to Hans. He smiled, and then inclined his head slightly.

"All right," Anna said, seeming surprised by her own words. "All right, I'll do it."

Elsa smiled. "Stand, Anna Siguror."

Her sister frowned, but did as asked.

Elsa knelt, facing her sister, and spoke. "Empress Anna Siguror, I pledge fealty to you. I trust in your wisdom to guide our people, and swear to follow your commands on pain of death. Lead us to glory."

For a few moments, the room was silent. Then Odette stood, pushed back her chair, and knelt towards Anna.

"Empress Anna Siguror, I pledge fealty to you. I trust in your wisdom to guide our people, and swear to follow your commands on pain of death. Lead us to peace."

One by one, every other person in the room swore themselves to Empress Anna Siguror's service.

Finally, they all stood again, and Elsa smiled at her sister. Silent tears streaked the young redhead's cheeks. _May the Lost Immortals bless your rule, sister. May you be a better leader than I ever was._

"Well, empress?" Elsa asked. "What now?"

Anna looked surprised to be asked, but she quickly recovered and set her jaw. "The first thing we need to do is ensure that everyone has been evacuated from under the iceblade. We should have enough able-bodied army men to be able to get it done in a few days. After that, we'll organize a memorial ceremony for those lost in the fighting and dispose of their remains with the most dignity that we can."

She looked around the room. "And after that, I suppose that we'd better do an official coronation."

She cast an uncertain glance towards Elsa, who smiled and nodded. Anna took a deep breath. She was going to have to get used to being the center of attention.

"Alright, let's go save the world."

The End

of Trials of Light and Darkness

Volume II: Words of the Protector

xxx

The Trials of Light and Darkness saga will continue with the short story _Wargate,_ which launches July 30th.

Then, the last three arcs of the fantasy epic will be detailed in _TLD Volume III: Immortal_ , which launches on August 27th.

The war against darkness has just begun.

xxx


End file.
